Fictitious Hero Idol!
by Paisley the Flowergirl
Summary: What would happen if fictional heroes from the world's most beloved stories were thrown together... on a gameshow whose prize was a garunteed happy ending? Phantom of the Opera, Sherlock Holmes, Johnny Tremain, and I am the Great Horse. Reviews welcome!
1. FHI Part I: Introductions

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters used in this admittedly silly fanfic. They belong to, respectively, Gaston LeRoux (_The Phantom of the Opera_,) Katherine Richards (_I am the Great Horse_,) Esther Forbes (_Johnny Tremain_,) Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (_Sherlock Holmes_,) J. D. Salinger (_The Catcher in the Rye_,) J.K. Rowling (_Harry Potter Series_,) and to the Disney Franchise (_Pirates of the Caribbean_.) "Love Story" belongs to Taylor Swift. While there may be some spoilers in this fanfic, there is nothing that you probably haven't heard about, so I suggest that you proceed. I decided to write it in script format because there are so many characters, and this makes it a whole lot easier to tell who's speaking. I appreciate comments and reviews! Realize, though, that nobody is perfect and I might have one or two or three or four grammatical/spelling errors. Please don't condemn me for it. As for content, everything is purely farcial and not at all serious. Now I present…. Fictitious Hero Idol! Enjoy!

~Paisley

_The scene opens to a large room, about the size of your average dining room. The walls are ornately carved with rococo designs and are covered in gilt and fancily framed paintings of people in old Victorian clothes. It has no doors or windows. In the center of the room is a large, square table, ornately carved, around which four matching chairs are gathered. Everything is silent. Suddenly…_

POOF!

_Five familiar faces have suddenly appeared, four seated in the chairs, one sprawled on the floor. They all look around themselves, quite disoriented. After much pinching and prodding and knocking heads against the woodwork, to make sure they are not dreaming, one speaks._

**Sherlock Holmes:** _(A tall, wiry, but strong man, dressed in an Ulster and deerstalker. He looks about himself, analytically)_ Where in the name of heaven are we?

**Erik, the Phantom of the Opera: **(_An athletic, mysterious, masked man, who looks very violent, and is muttering)_ If someone does not tell me what I am doing here, it will be VERY BAD for a goodly number of the human race…

_A feminine voice booms out of nowhere, as if coming from loudspeakers. It seems to issue from a painting of a Victorian lady attired in pink, whose hat is blowing away in the wind. _

**Paisley:** Greetings! I am your hostess and master of ceremonies today. My name is Paisley, and I will be directing as you all play… Fictitious Hero Idol!

_All of the contestants look at each other in astonishment_.

**Alexander the Great of Macedonia:** _(Attired in shining armor, the blond, energetic dictator looks absolutely befuddled.) _What?

**Paisley:** Let me explain. All of you have been chosen to be contestants in a debate, the prize for which is a happy ending added on to the end of your story. You see, all of you can be found as principal characters in books, and demonstrate qualities that have made you, over the years, fictitious heartthrobs for bookish girls and women the world over. At the end of your respective tales, you have all ended up single _(many gasps issue from the contestants, but they are ignored), _which makes you even more eligible for the prize. This is your chance to prove that you are the best fictional hero ever written about. I will be introducing a series of questions and topics for discussion, and, during the course of our little chats, you will try and make yourself sound as wonderful as possible. Do I make myself clear?

**Erik:** _(murderously)_ No, you do not. I have no understanding of why I should be whisked away from my organ and my masterpiece Operatic score to play at some trifling game.

**Paisley:** _(with tears in her voice)_ Oh, you poor Phantom, how little you know of the future. You need this prize as much as anyone else.

**Erik:** I… I…. don't understand….

**Paisley:** _(now upbeat)_ So, before Phanty over there gets a dropkick through the goalposts of reality, let's go around and introduce ourselves. We will start with…

_A spinner, which looks suspiciously like the one from the game Twister, appears on the table, and spins. It stops, pointing at a handsome, enigmatic young man wearing the kind of clothes found in the Regency period. _

**Paisley:** Rab, you get to start! Please tell us your name, occupation, talents, and why you think you should be the winner of Fictitious Hero Idol.

**Rab Silsbee:** _(sounding uncertain, and subconsciously tugging at his sleeves) _Um, hey there… I'm Rab Silsbee… I work at the Boston Observer, which is a newspaper based in Boston. But I guess that's obvious. _(he seems to be warming up to the topic.) _I set type and work on the printing press. As a sideline, I help the Sons of Liberty try to annoy the British into leaving us alone. I organized a quarter of the participants that engaged in the recent Boston Tea Party. I also aspire to join the Continental Army when we provoke the Redcoats into starting a war. My talents include horsemanship, dancing at parties, setting type, and making punch. I'm a good listener, and can strategize very well. I recently updated an old musket singlehandedly. But I don't know why I should win this game or whatever…

**Paisley:** _(interrupting)_ DON'T GO, RAB!

**Rab:** Wha…?

**Paisley**_**:**__ (sniffling)_ Nothing… nothing… Now, _(sounding upbeat again)_ Rab, don't be so modest. You have given us and anyone in the audience that has not read your book no good reason to think that you deserve to be on this show. But, I chose you for a reason. Do any of you know why Rab should win the game? Hmm? _(She, or, rather, the portrait, looks around the table at all the other contestants, who look thoroughly cowed.)_ Rab should win because he has no flaws. He is the single most likeable book character ever written about!!! _(Her rant seems to become more and more irate.)_ He is kind and unselfish!!! And he's enigmatic!!!!!!! Now, Rabby, repeat that.

**Rab:** _(sounding scared) _O-kay… I have no flaws… I am the single most likeable book character ever written about…I am kind and unselfish…And I'm….?

**Paisley:** ENIGMATIC! You are very, very ENIGMATIC!!!!!

**Rab:** …Enigmatic.

_A gold star appears on Rab's lapel._

**Alexander: **_(looking miffed.)_ Oh, look, she's already picked favorites.

**Paisley:** Hush yo mouth, tyrant boy. As punishment for insulting Rab, you get to go next.

**Alexander:** _(smiling winningly. You can tell that he's used to this kind of thing, and enjoys it) _Friends, heroes, countrymen. I am Alexander the Great, King of Macedonia and its surrounding Empire, Emperor of Persia, and soon to be conqueror of the entire World!!! _(he begins to laugh diabolically, but is silenced by a glare from the portrait.)_ I am immortal, the son of Zeus, and can conquer any foe that dares stand in my divine way. _(here, he glares around the table, as if looking for a challenge. There are none, but Erik seems to be glowering intensely at him underneath his mask.)_ A master horseman since a young age, I tamed a wild stallion to carry me faithfully through all sorts of tribulations with only my innate cunning and courage! I can win over people from all walks of life through both strategy and force! I can inspire even the most worthless troops into incomparable action by a simple act of daring! I can…

**Paisley:** _(cutting him off)_ Okay, Alex, enough about you. Since you are the only fictitious hero in this room who is proved to have also existed in real life, _(an offended scoff escapes Sherlock)_ we all know about you, anyway. We also all know that you were quite the grasping little tyrant while you were bent on conquering the Eastern world.

**Alexander:** LITTLE? Who are you calling LITTLE? _(he is obviously very defensive of his vertically challenged stature.)_

_Grabbing his sword from its sheath, he tries to run the talking painting through with it. Rab, apparently protective of the entity that give him a gold star, leaps up from his chair and threatens Alexander with his fists. Sherlock, wanting to keep the peace until he can deduce what is going on, grabs a riding crop and is about to wail on both of them with it. The Phantom looks calm, but his hand has disappeared under his cloak, presumably grabbing for his Punjab lasso. The fifth person is cowering under the table. But, the sword suddenly disappears from Alexander's hand.) _

**Alexander:** Huh?

**Paisley:** _(sounding disappointed.)_ I had hoped that you all would be able to control your tempers, but I was obviously wrong. I'm going to ask you to relinquish any weapons you have concealed about your person. Please place them in the middle of the table and return to your seats. There will be no violence in this competition.

_(grumbling, all four weaponed men create a large stack of various guns, knives, swords, and lassos in the middle of the table.)_

**Paisley:** Is that all?

**Alexander, Erik, Rab, and Sherlock:** _(in singsong unison)_ Yeeeeeesssssssss…..

**Paisley:** I doubt it. Erik, empty your cloak.

_(Erik proceeds to pull an additional sword, a dagger, and three nooses from his cloak.)_

**Erik:** mumblemumblemumble…..

(_Two more familiar faces- one in Hufflepuff Quidditch robes and one in pirate garb- suddenly appear in the room. Grumbling amongst themselves, they gather all the weapons and, turning on their heels, apparate out of the room)_

**Sherlock:** May you be so kind, my dear Miss Paisley, as to enlighten us?

**Paisley:** They're the two fictitious heroes that didn't make the cut; Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts fame and Captain Jack Sparrow. They were considered for entry, but I decided that they weren't interesting enough. So they're on security detail for the duration of this game.

**Sherlock:** Very…interesting.

**Paisley:** Anyway… So far, Alexander has owned Rab in self-description, but it's hard to beat somebody whose only fault is enigmaticness, even if your name ends with "The Great." Rabby, step up your game. Alex, tone it down- I don't want you to strain yourself. Now for the spinner.

_(the spinner spins again, this time pointing towards the person that was, until this moment, unnoticed and unnamed.)_

**Paisley:** WHA….? Who are…? You're….

**Holden Caulfield: **_(Skinny and waifish)_ Holden Caulfield.

**Paisley:** Holden Cau…? WHAT??? YOU'RE not supposed to be here! YOU of all people DO NOT fit the mold of "fictitious hero…" you're, like, an anti-hero! How did this happen???? _(Those in the room can hear Paisley banging about her office, wherever it is. She seems to be rifling through filing cabinets.)_ I'm sending you back this instant!!!!

_(A long silence ensues. The others look quizzically at Holden. Holden tries to look nonchalant, but slides off the wall where he had been previously leaning.)_

**Paisley:** AHA! I've got it! I'll just send you back to where you came from… What's that? _(some sort of small, probably fuzzy animal is whispering to her, and pointing at a piece of paper with its little claws. Somehow, they can hear this. Maybe it picks up slightly on the microphone.)_ ARGH, I can't believe it! My contract says that, once somebody is in the game, there's no pulling them out. So, we're stuck with good ol' Mister Holden boarding-school dropout drug user alcoholic foulmouthed delusions of crazy cliffs Caulfield. Ugh.

**Holden:** _(adjusting his furry red hunting hat.)_ So… can I talk about myself?

**Paisley:** I suppose. What an ugly hat.

**Holden:** It's a Catcher cap.

**Paisley:** I noticed.

**Holden:** You kill me. You really do.

**Paisley:** I know. I read your book.

**Holden:** Oh? What do you mean by, "my book?" Am I… famous?

**Paisley:** NEVER YOU MIND! Just get on with it. You try my patience.

**Holden:** Don't blow a fuse. So, uh, hello. I'm Holden Caulfield, and I don't know why I'm here in this depressing, crummy game, but whatever. My achievements include getting expelled from boarding schools- three to date- and living on my own. I'm a sort of a terrific fencer, too. And I'm a madman at thinking. You know, deep thinking. None of that ol' lousy, phony crap- actual deep thinking. It kills, me, it really does. I'm very sensitive, too. I mean, little kids love me and I'm a nice guy and all that. When I grow up, I want to go and stand at the edge of this crazy cliff and catch little kids, y'know, save 'em from falling and all that corny stuff…

**Paisley:** Yes, we KNOW about your slightly delusional future career. I would suggest being a mute hermit, instead.

**Holden:** Whoa, how do you know what I told Sally about last year? Huh?

**Paisley:** _(annoyed)_ I read your book, re-mem-ber?

**Holden:** That was a h****** bad day, I'll tell you what. It really was. G***…

**Paisley:** SILENCE! _(a piece of duct tape suddenly appears over Holden's mouth.)_ I hereby decree that all foul language uttered during the course of this game will become fruits and vegetables! Continue, please.

_(The piece of duct tape is forcibly ripped from Holden's face by an unseen hand.)_

**Holden:** AUUUUGGGGHHHHH! Kumquat!!! Rutabaga!!! Squash you!

**Paisley:** _(her portrait looks smug.)_ Wonderful. Now, Holden, your time is just about up, so please wrap it up in the next five…four…three…two…

**Holden**: Okra.

**Paisley:** …one. O-kay, then. Only two more to- wait a sec- _(the furry creature in Paisley's room/office/lair is whispering again.)_ Fine! _(Holden is suddenly sitting in a chair, and the table has miraculously turned from a square to and equilateral pentagon.)_ I forgot to introduce Zuzu, my cat. She's making sure I don't get in trouble by the fictional character union… _(mumbling)_ though certain members of this party could use a little physical strain now and then.

_The spinner begins to spin again, and this time lands pointing at The Phantom of the Opera._

**Erik:** _(Rising to his feet)_ I am Erik, the Phantom of the Opera Garnier. I am a master architect, illusionist, kidnapper, torturer, and athlete. However, my true love is Chris- I mean, music. I am currently composing the most passionate and spectacular Operatic play ever to be given, Don Juan Triumphant!!! I am also the most gifted singer that any of your mortal ears will ever have the privlege to hear speak! I…um, hello?

_(everyone in the room is gazing fixedly at the Phantom, enchanted by his dulcet voice. One can hear the steady drip, drip of drool from wherever Paisley is. Fortunately, as soon as he stops talking, they all snap out of it.)_

**Sherlock:** _(interrupting)_ You're… THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA??? I have been trying to solve the Mystery of the Opera Ghost for years! How dare you just show up here all impertinent-like and mock me to my face??? The ONE case that was never explained… the one mystery that I failed to conquer! Oh, cruel fate, why do you deride me so?!?!?!

_Sherlock leaps to his feet and tries to tackle Erik, but finds himself being choked with a Punjab lasso by a vengeful Phantom._

**Paisley:** _(outraged)_ I thought you said that you gave up all your weapons!

**Erik**: _(innocently, though Sherlock's face is slowly turning purple)_ I did… but I secrete ropes about my person. How did you think I always somehow have a noose on hand, hmmm? They come out my pores.

**Paisley:** Well, that explains how you made a rope appear from nothing but a puffy shirt and tight Leading Man pants.

**Erik:** _(sneakily) _And when do I do that?

**Paisley:** When you're tying Raoul to the portico…

**Sherlock: ***Gaaaakk!! Splutter!*

**Erik:** I get to TIE RAOUL TO A PORTICO???

**Paisley:** Oops, said too much!

_POOF! The rope disappears and Sherlock lands on the top of the pentagonal table, flopping like a fish but otherwise unharmed. _

**Paisley:** I am very disappointed in you, Erik. Even if you are and outrageously talented, ingenious, and built Phantom, you can't expect me to let you go around choking people, especially if the person you're choking just happens to be the most beloved detective in the whole of English literature. You shall be punished by…by… I know! You shall be forced to sing "Love Story" by Taylor Swift! Oh, I am just too diabolical!

**Erik: **_(looking at the sheet music that has appeared before him.)_ You cannot be serious. This song was written for a soprano with an accent indigenous to the southern part of North America proper, not a classically trained tenor from central France! I cannot do it.

**Paisley:** You CAN, and you WILL.

**Erik:** _(suddenly standing on his chair, as if poofed up there by magic. He beings to sing involuntarily, and, despite pained facial expressions, cannot seem to stop himself.)_ We were both young when I first saw you, I closed my eyes and the flashback starts…

_Everyone else in the room, including Paisley and her cat, start laughing uproariously, Sherlock the loudest of all. By the end of the terrible rendition of Love Story, The Phantom looks like he's about to cry and his audience is rolling on the floor, already crying. _

**Erik:** …'cause we were both young when I first saaaaaaaw you!

**Paisley:** So, now I hope that you've learned *snicker* your lesson and, in the future, will restrain yourself from *giggle* trying to strangle the competition. Capice?

**Erik:** *moody, glowering silence*

**Paisley:** All righty then. Sherlock, it's your turn.

**Sherlock:** Greetings, fellow heroes. While I'm sure that all of you and our audience, wherever it may be, would love to hear about me, I would prefer to start off by demonstrating my intellect… by telling everyone a little something about you! To begin with… you, sir. (He points at Alexander). Before you appeared in this… whatever it is, you were negotiating military techniques with Persian envoys in your tent. You were drinking wine and signing rolls of papyrus with ink. I also deduce that this was soon after you cut the Gordian knot.

**Alexander:** Impossible! How could you ever tell all those things about me from a single glance?

**Sherlock:** Because I'm Sherlock Holmes.

**Alexander:** Surely, you…

**Sherlock:** DON'T CALL ME SHIRLEY!!!!!!

**Alexander:** Excuse me…?

**Paisley:** Okay, time's up for today's episode, chums. _(all contestants look disappointed, since there would probably have been another fight.)_ You will be sent to your hotel rooms, and report back here at the same time tomorrow. Audience, stay tuned for the next thrilling chapter of Fictitious Hero Idol- and feel free to Private Message me with any comments or fanmail you like for me to read during the next show! Next time, we'll be addressing the merits and issues of each contestant. There will be more Tension! More fights! More 'Don't call me Shirley' jokes! This is Paisley, signing off!


	2. FHI Part II: Talent Portion

**Disclaimer:** See the one in chapter one. I don't own anybody, yada yada yada. Who likes pudding? Quotations come from "The Devil Wears Prada" and "Jane Eyre." I don't think this chapter will be better than the last- please read and review anyway!

**Also…** sorry this took a while, but vacation kept getting in my way! Oh, well, at least it's here now.

_The scene opens to the same room as before. It is again occupied by an equilateral pentagon table, five chairs, and a lot of old paintings. Suddenly, as you knew it would happen…_

_POOF! The five contestants from before appear in the room. They seem a lot less shaken than they were yesterday. All of them have on clean clothes, though Rab has stuck his sticker star from before awkwardly on his lapel. It looks like it will fall off any minute._

**Paisley:** _(sounding especially perky)_ Good morning, my little pumpkins! I hope you slept well in your hotel rooms?

**Alexander, Erik, Holden, Sherlock, and Rab:** mumblemumblemumble…

**Paisley:** They _are_ just a tad bit different than what you're used to, I suppose. At least I requested that all the technology be taken out.

**Holden:** Y'mean… There was one of them new televisions in my room??? I want it back!!!

**Paisley:** Sorry, Crybaby Caulfield, but it wouldn't exactly be playing "Leave it to Beaver" for you.

**Holden:** Awwwwww…

**Paisley:** Anyway, to business! Before we begin today's debate, I think that our dear Sherlock should finish telling us about himself.

**Alexander:** As a matter of fact, I DEMAND that he should! I must know how he could discern all of those things by looking only at my clothes.

**Paisley:** _(looks expectant) _All right, Sherlock, inform us!

**Sherlock:** The deduction was a simple one, my dear fellows. It was because…because….

**Paisley:** _(dryly)_ By all means move at a glacial pace. You know how it thrills me…

**Sherlock:** …because I'M SHERLOCK HOLMES!!!

**Alexander:** _(fuming)_ We have already addressed this! I demand a straight answer now!

**Sherlock:** *evil chuckle* Pshaw! You see, that's the point! The best way for me to demonstrate my greatest intellectual achievement, the art of observation, is to do the impossible! To ensure that I am always one step ahead of the competition! No one else can tell you, Mr. Silsbee, that you were setting type for a story about a new Act of Sedition before coming! Or that you, infantile whiner, were having a nervous attack somewhere near Central Park when you were sucked into this game! Or that you, Opera Ghost, have an extensive collection of wax figurines of everyone in your Opera House! Or that you, Paisley, have at one time traveled to the West Indies and had a most horrible time there!!! All of this is my life's work, my cut above the rest, my…

**Paisley:** CEASE YOUR CHATTER, BLOCKHEAD, and DO MY BIDDING!!!!

**Holden:** Ohhh, burn.

**Sherlock:** *speechless*

**Paisley:** Come now, come now, you don't have to be so dumb now. Speak up!

**Sherlock:** That's… the first time… anybody has ever….ever… insulted my intellect so!

**Paisley:** _Pleur_. We're wasting precious time, Sherlock. Please tell us.

**Sherlock:** Fine. The deduction was actually a very simple one. Mister The Great, you have wine and ink stains on your front, and, by your resplendent Persian headpiece, I can tell the approximate time during the conquest that you were so unceremoniously plucked from. Mr. Silsbee, your sleeve as of yesterday had a distinct print of the words "Townsend Acts" on it, obviously caught by accident in your setting of type. Mister Caulfield, you smelt of vomit yesterday, you looked quite feverish, were covered in grass stains, and you were mumbling something about 'the ducks in the winter' in a New York accent as you came to after arriving. Monsieur O. G., I have extensively studied your deserted lair, so I know all about you from personal experience. And Miss Paisley, you exhibit the physical signs of having had, at one time, some sort of exotic disease, probably found in the uncharted jungles of the Caribbean islands. It has made your skin quite pasty and squishy-looking. Do I make myself clear?

_(All the contestants have gasped at Sherlock's astounding skills as he calls their bluff. All except Paisley, who is in the midst of a scoff.)_

**Paisley:** My dear Mr. Holmes, not only are the West Indies no longer a part of Britain and largely their own sovereign nations, but I have never visited them. Also, the skin malady to which you refer is a result of a certain entity commonly known as OIL PAINT!

**Sherlock:** (perturbed) You mean to say… you are not that painting?

**Paisley:** You expect me to answer that?

_There is a drawn-out, awkward silence. Zuzu the cat plays a makes a very convincing cricket noise._

**Zuzu:** eee-eee, eee-eee….

**Paisley:** You actually though I was a painting?

**Erik, Rab, Holden, and Alexander:** Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!

**Paisley:** That…that disrupts every notion I ever had of you… surely you have to be….

**Sherlock:** _(finally seems to snap)_ Don't. Call. Me. SHIRLEY!!! AUGH!

_He pounces at the painting, and tries to do some baritsu on it. Cedric Diggory and Captain Jack Sparrow immediately appear. _

**Cedric Diggory:** _(pointing his wand at Sherlock)_ Stupefy!

_The security guards quietly apparate out, with a comatose detective in tow._

**Paisley:** Thanks, guys. Well, he wasn't the first person I expected to crack _(looks pointedly at Holden),_ but he'll be back once he gets over his first insult. Anyway, to business. Our theme for today's discussion is your merits and talents. However, there are only four talents that I care anything about, and, so, we will only address these. They are singing, dancing, stealing things, and horsemanship.

**Alexander:** Stealing things? Surely *snort* you're joking!

**Paisley:** I'm a Jason Mroz fan. What can I say?

**Alexander:** By Imperial Mandate, you shall explain further.

**Paisley:** *sigh* A singer named Jason Mroz put a bunch of songs together on what we call a CD. Far beyond your comprehension. Anywho, It's called "We sing, we dance, we steal things." I love music, live for dance, and am a practicioner of stealthiness. And I love horses, and think that equitation is a skill crucial to any kind of hero. Savvy?

**Captain Jack Sparrow:** _(suddenly in the room)_ Savvy! _(disappears)_

**Paisley:** We will address the topics one by one. At the end of the session, the contestant that best exemplifies each quality will get a point. Whoever has the most points wins the day. At the end of Fictitious Hero Idol, the winner will be decided by whoever has the most points. Or by audience vote. I haven't decided yet.

**Rab:** _(mumbles, patting his gold star)_

**Paisley:** We will now officially begin! The first category is: We sing! Going in the same order as yesterday, Rab, you go first. Tell us about any singing that you do.

**Rab:** I don't sing. I whistle…sometimes. But never actual singing.

**Holden:** Yeah, right, ya phony.

**Rab:** 'cuse me…?

**Holden:** I know your dirty secret! Paisley, roll the tape!

**Paisley:** I hate to do this, Rab, but someone has to prove you wrong…

_A floating screen appears. It plays a clip from the movie "Johnny Tremain," circa 1956. One may look it up on youtube, if one needs an audio accompianment. _

**Actors Playing, Rab, Johnny, and Sons of Liberty:** _(singing loudly)_ It's a tall, tall tree and a grand old tree, and we are the sons, yes we are the sons, the sons of libertyyyyyyyy…

**Rab:** _(the real one)_ Augh, make it stop!

**Actors:** *repeat chorus while marching*

**Holden:** Hah! We had to watch this phony movie in American History class at the Whooton School. Now I can finally get my revenge on ol' Rab and ol' Johnny and that corny Lavinia Lyte chick…

**Paisley:** Enough! _(the screen disappears.)_ Sorry to put you through that, Rabby. I know that it's historically inaccurate.

**Rab:** _(to himself)_ You've got that right. _(aloud)_ The Sons of Liberty would never sing anything as awful as that. And my hair is not, and never has been, in a mullet.

**Paisley:** I know, I know, but the fact of the matter is, you sang at one point in your fictitious hero career. And not very well, either, which we will just have to remember in the final tally.

**Rab:** Awww, schucks.

**Paisley:** Anyway, onward we go! Alex, your turn.

**Alexander:** Dictators do not sing. Ever. _(scowls)_

**Paisley: **O-kay, easy enough. You will be at the very back of this category, then.

**Rab:** _(giving a very uncharacteristic arm-pump motion)_ Yesssssssssss!

**Holden:** I'm next, and I don't sing, either.

**Rab:** Boo-yah!

**Paisley:** You're creeping me out, Rabbykins. Seriously, cut the anachronisms.

**Rab:** straight up, OG!

**Erik:** Straight up? I haven't the faintest inkling of what you intend by that probably derogative comment to the original OG, insolent boy, but I suppose I shall let you remain unscathed for the present. Surely _(he grins wickedly behind his mask, although there is no Sherlock present)_ you all know that I am the unsurpassed champion of this "We sing" challenge?

**Paisley:** Huh? _(as before, she and everyone else has fallen into a daze at the first sound of Erik's voice.)_ Um, sure, I guess… (_you can hear the sound of Zuzu slapping her cheeks)_ Oh, right! No, Erik, I think you need to demonstrate to us your singing capabilities.

**Erik:** Entirely superfluous.

**Paisley:** I will not let the opportunity to hear the Phantom of the Opera sing slip right through my fingers! _(slightly maniacal)_ Sing, Angel of Music!!!!

**Erik:** Creeper…

**Paisley:** You're one to talk. If you don't sing "The Music of the Night" for me this instant, you can bet your mask that you'll never end up with your precious soprano!

**Erik:** You mean… I don't end up with her???

**Paisley: **Yes!

**Erik:** _(With growing panic)_ And that ignorant fool of a Raoul gets her instead???

**Paisley:** YES!

**Erik: **_(leaping up onto the table, and shaking his fist at the sky and singing)_ They will curse the day they did not do…. All that the Phantom asked of…you? No, that will not work. Them? No, doesn't rhyme_…(he seems to forget his angst of seconds ago, as moody Phantoms are wont to do.)_

**Paisley:** How about Vous? You know, like French for plural you…

**Erik:** French is my native language, you know.

**Paisley:** One would think that you would have thought of that sooner.

**Erik:** Say, would you like to become a part-time lyricist or something for me?

**Paisley:** _(dies and goes to Phangirl heaven)_ Yes!

**Alexander: **NO! That, you masked man you, is BRIBERY. I will not allow it on my game show!

**Erik: **YOUR game show!?

**Alexander: **I am the Son of Zeus Emperor of Macedonia, Persia, and soon to be The Whole World, Achilles reincarnated….

**Erik, Rab, Holden, and Paisley:** We Know!

**Alexander:** Doesn't that qualify me to be the ruler of all things, including this show?

**Paisley:** No.

**Alexander:** Oh.

**Paisley: **Anyway, though I cannot be your lyricist, Erik, you are still required to sing for us to prove yourself.

**Erik:** Fine. _(breaks into glorious, magnificent, spellbinding song)_ Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the light you knew before….

**Paisley:** *implodes with a scream of joy* YEEEEEEEEEEE!

_Everyone else plugs their ears, so as not to become entranced. After a long interval, during which one can hear Paisley's particles realigning, the competition continues. _

**Paisley:** AMAZING! I can't believe I just heard THE Phantom of the Opera sing the Most SPECTACULAR song ever! _(Zuzu smacks Paisley in the eye.)_ *SPAQ!* Ouch. Ummm… so Erik obviously wins that challenge. Anyway, to Dancing! My favorite! Rab, you go first again.

**Rab:** _(suavely)_ As anyone who's read my book very well knows, I dance with "machine-like perfection," and "fling myself into the dance," and "All the Lindas and Betseys, Pollys, Peggys and Sallys of Lexington" are "clamoring to stand up with me." Heh. I think I'm the best dancer in this room.

**Paisley: **Second best, after myself.

**Rab:** You're not in the room. And, you're still materializing.

**Paisley: **So? I'm still the best dancer. But I know that you're pretty good yourself, Rab, as a flawless person ought to be. Alex?

**Alexander:** Dictators don't dance. We scheme, plot, and generally conquer things. But we don't dance.

**Paisley:** You're really turning out a disappointment in the arts department, mister, but I suppose you have other things on your plate to deal with. World domination, for example. Holden?

**Holden:** Dancing's for sissies and phonies, for carrotssake.

**Paisley:** I hardly expected more from you, uncultured youth. Erik?

**Erik:** While I am a stellar composer, and can easily do dramatic, interpretive dance as I sing in my operas, you won't be gettin' no serious rug cuttin' outta me, girrrrr.

**Paisley:** Now that was creepy. Creeper creepy. Even creeper creepier than the whole wax-mannequin-of-Christine-in-wedding-gown thing. But I'll try and forget it. Rab wins, hands down.

**Rab:** SCORE! *flexes muscles*

**Paisley:** Ahem. Stealing things shall now commence! We can skip Rab, because he's perfect, and he would never steal anything.

**Rab:** Wrong! Don't you know of my heroic attempt to steal a British musket from their stash in Boston?

**Paisley: **Oh, don't remind me, Rabby! You could have been killed! *bursts into tears, but quickly ceases.* Besides, you got caught, and that stupid British officer told you to go get yourself a popgun, boy, and you generally failed at stealing thing, let alone things.

**Rab:** Killjoy.

**Paisley:** I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Alex?

**Alexander:** Oh, I'm the very best at stealing things. Maybe Phanty-pants here stole some money and notes and horses and other common things…

**Erik:** I beg your pardon!

**Alexander:** … and maybe the wimpy kid has mugged someone, or committed some other crass act of theft…

**Holden: **Hey! I never stole nothin'… it was me that got mugged!

**Alexander:**… but I would never stoop to either of those things. I steal countries, kingdoms, cities, and armies, and, one day, will have stolen the entire Asian continent from the incompetent hands of others! I am Achilles reincar-

**Erik: **You try my patience, fool! You would be useless without your vast armies! How dare you criticize the work of a stealing master! Not even a safety-pin can stop me from pilfering whatever I want, whenever I want!

**Alexander: **And not even the hordes of India with their giant elephants and poison-tipped arrows can stop me in my quest for global dominance! Pthhhhhhhhpt! _(he sticks out his tongue and makes a raspberry sound.)_

**Erik:** PthhhhhphtOUTH! _(his tongue gets stuck in his mask.)_ A lithle help here, pleathe.

_Everyone else bursts out laughing, as Erik slowly becomes glowerier and glowerier. Eventually, he becomes unstuck._

**Erik:** _(to himself)_ Must….not….kill….others….must….not…

**Paisley:** Umm. Alexander is the champ of stealing things, no doubt about it. Horsemanship time! We're running low on time, so I'll let us go out of order to make it snappy. Holden…

**Holden:** Before you say anything, let me remind you that the plantain-tomated poster for lousy ol' Pencey Academy had some sap jumping over a fence on a horse, but they really didn't have any horses. A horse is at least human, for grapefruitssake.

**Paisley:** That doesn't help you one bit. Erik?

**Erik: **I not only stole the best-trained horse from the stables of the royal opera, but successfully keep him hidden in the sub-basements. I can also drive a team of four horses…

**Paisley:** Gotcha. Sorry, Erik, but the real contest is between these two, and we have mere minutes to watch 'em fight it out. Literally. Go ahead, Rabexander!

_(upon both hearing their names, they begin talking at once. Their words sound almost exactly alike, with some deviations. Because of this, they rather dumbly do not notice until…well, you'll see.)_

**Alexander and Rab:** I found my steed as a troubled adult, but, through my own cunning and horse sense, I taught him to carry a rider with ease. He soon became the finest horse in-

**Alexander**: Asia

**Rab:** Boston.

**Alexander:**…Asia!

**Rab:** Boston!

**Alexander:** ASIA!

**Rab:** BOSTON BOSTON BOSTON!!!!

**Alexander:** I somehow doubt that you and your spotty colt should even be compared with me. Bucephalus could whoop any horse, anywhere, at any time! With both eyes blindfolded! And I trained him!

**Rab:** I somehow doubt that you and your cowardly showpony should be compared with me! Goblin could outrun, outjump, and outfight any horse EVER, including your pampered parade horse, and have fun doing it!!! And I trained him!

**Alexander:** Your unpedigreed nag would never match Bucephalus' pure brand of excellence! He'd devour you in two mouthfuls!

**Rab:** Goblin would devour you in ONE!

**Alexander and Rab:** _(in unison again)_ You can insult me all you want, but NEVER, EVER insult my horse!!!

**Alexander:** ALALALALALAI!!!!

**Rab:** FOR LIBERTY!

_They both leap out each other, and hit the ground swinging. Of course, both are excellent fighters, and actually enjoy it, so they are almost exactly equally matched. _

**Paisley:** Break it up! Break it up, you two!

_There seems to be no chance of stopping anytime soon. They're still going at it, despite the pleas of Paisley and Zuzu, when Sherlock reappears._

**Sherlock:** Halloa, what'd I miss?

**Paisley:** Ugh, we're out of time. Today was just thrilling- STOP IT, you guys!- wasn't it? Hopefully, Rab and Alex (who are frighteningly alike, come to think of it) won't have killed each other by the time we recommence for tomorrow's show, and we can award points for horsemanship. In the meantime, this is Paisley, signing off!


	3. FHI Part III: The Quiz Show

**Sorry for the holdup on this chapter, folks. I simply had no muse for comedy and then, what can you do? Anyway, I'm inspired once again.**

**Same disclaimer as the previous chapters. But I also must acknowledge Tom Lerher for the lyrics to a certain song, and Gilbert and Sullivan for the tune. **

_Once again, the scene opens to the gold room, pentagonal table, etc. Suddenly…_

_Poof!_

_All five heroes have once again appeared. Rab and Alexander are both very beat up and Sherlock looks peeved._

**Paisley:** Hello again! How are we all doing today?

**Rab:** Greath! _(One of his lips is very swollen, and he is having trouble talking. He also has a black eye, bruised cheek, and one arm in a sling.)_

**Alexander:** Yeah, fantabulouth. _(Alexander looks to be missing a few teeth, has a broken hand, and a goose egg on his forehead.)_

**Paisley:** Oh no! You two look like savage barbarians or something! _(Alexander gives her a dirty look.)_ Let's hope you've learned your lesson and won't fight any more.

**Rab:** Acthually, we've retholved our differenceth.

**Alexander:** We've dethided that we are both great horthemen, and thould be friendth, not enemieth.

**Paisley:** That'th… I mean, that's great!

**Erik:** Sissies.

**Paisley:** Hush, O Rugged Individual. I think it's marvelous that at least some of us can act thoroughly civilized when there is so much pressure on you heroes to be macho islands of manly lone-wolfishness. But I'm getting up on a soapbox- here, you guys keep this for me.

_A large soapbox, imprinted at the top with two high-heeled footmarks, appears on the table. _

**Paisley:** O-kay, to business! First of all, our dear Sherlock, always absent when anything important happens, needs to be debriefed on last episode's points. Sherlock- do you sing?

**Sherlock:** Never. I do play the violin rather well though…

**Paisley:** You squeak and saw, actually. Plus it is not the same thing. Do you dance?

**Sherlock:** Rarely.

**Paisley:** Steal things?

**Sherlock:** Only when acting as a finger of the firm hand of the law.

**Paisley:** Do you ride well?

**Sherlock:** Hardly at all.

**Paisley:** Well, that was easy enough! That means that current point tallies are as follows: Rab and Alexander lead, with three points apiece. They won dancing and stealing things, respectively, and are splitting horsemanship. Erik next with two, having won singing. Sherlock and Holden bring up the rear with a pair of fat ol' zeroes.

**Sherlock:** WHAT? How can I be last?

**Paisley:** And even better, anyone with fewer than one point will be booted from the running by the end of today's show!

**Sherlock:** INCONCEIVABLE! Sherlock Holmes is NEVER last! You have somehow cheated me.

**Paisley:** Not at all, my dear Mr. Holmes! I would never cheat you! Today, we will be having a quiz to see which one of you is the brainiest! This quiz will be worth three whole points to the winner, since smarts is obviously lots more important than talents is!

**Sherlock:** Ummm, okay…

**Paisley:** And, each of you will be quizzed on an area of his expertise: Rab on American History, Alexander on rhetoric, Erik on architecture and physics, Sherlock on chemistry, and Holden on… Egypt.

**Holden:** Egypt??? Bok Choi! You know as well as I do that I failed the test I had on that back in ol' Spencer's class! I don't want and more of that ol' Pharaoh and them Nubians…

**Paisley:** *vampire smile* exactly!

**Holden:** Awwwww…

**Paisley:** Anyway, you can go first, since you whined!

**Holden:** Arugula.

**Paisley:** Question One: Egypt. Ahem. WHAT is the name of the geographic feature in which most of the Egyptian artifacts currently known have been discovered?

_(an awkward silence, punctuated by Holden's hemmings and hawings, settles.)_

**Holden:** The mountain… the hillock… the drumlin… the mound… of…

**Erik:** _(in an undertone)_ …the idiots…

**Holden:** …of… of… the… ummm…. The escarpment…

**Sherlock:** _(turning beet-colored, and losing his composure)_ It's a VALLEY, you nitwit!!!

**Holden:** Gee, helpa fella out. The VALLEY of… the…

**Erik:** Rhymes with "sings…" Christine sings…

**Sherlock:** And "things," "rings," "whisperings," "heartstrings," "philanderi-"

**Alexander:** ME!

**Rab:** _(catching on a bit late)_ um… No Taxation Without Representation?

**Paisley:** Chicken ala…! Sport of…!

Hol **Holden:** Okay, okay, I've got it! It's… the Valley of the… the…

**Everyone Else:** *holding breath*

**Holden**: …The Valley of the Seismic Readings! Seismic Readings!

**Paisley:** EEEAAAHHHHGGGGHHHHH!

**Sherlock:** Good gracious, what was that atrocious clamor?

**Paisley:** The wrong-answer-buzzer onomatopoeia. Y'know… eeeaaahhhggghhh…

**Sherlock:** Excuse me?

**Paisley:** eeeaaahhhggghhh.

**Sherlock:** What?

**Paisley:** EEEAAAHH-

**Alexander:** I command you to stop! That is no sound to make in the presence of royal ears! I am the son of immortal Achilles, Zeus reincarnated…

**Paisley:** I thought it was the other way around.

**Alexander:** Whatever.

**Paisley:** At any rate, our dear Catcher got that question more wrong than Alexander's decision to invade India, or Rab's decision to go to Lexington one fine April day, or Sherlock's original ideas about the Hound of the Baskervilles, or Erik's decision to try and pick a sword fight with Raoul. All wrong. Very wrong. Hence, Holden is out. Since he has not, and will not have won or be winning any points by the end of today's session, it is safe to say that he will be omitted from the next round. Therefore, he must only play the silent role of the observer from now on. And that means that Mr. Holden Winifred Caulfield is out of the running for… Fictitious Hero Idol!!!

_A funeral dirge begins to play, very loudly, and invisible threads suddenly hoist Holden into the air. The dirge gets louder and louder and faster and faster, and, with a sudden pop, a fancy 'box,' the sort used for viewing Operas, appears in the side of the wall, ten feet or so above the floor. Holden is slowly dragged towards it, while kicking and screaming-_

**Holden:** My middle name is NOT Winifred! It's NOT, I tell, you, it's NOT…

**Paisley:** _(makes a zippa-the-lippa hand motion, and a soundproof wall rises between the struggling Holden and the rest of the contestants, all of whom look terrified. By the way, it is most disconcerting to see a Victorian painting do the zippa-the-lippa.)_ So. Who's next?

_*Silence all 'round*_

**Paisley:** Oh, what's this? None of you heroes are man enough to answer one teensy weensy little question that you are by golly supposed to know the answers to?! I am ashamed and appalled.

**Alexander:** Fine- I'll go. I am, after all, the bravest one is this room. And this city, wherever it is. And the world. And the smartest. Were any of you saps instructed by a member of .?

**Rab, Erik, and Sherlock: **_(in unison)_ S.P.A.? _(But they pronounce it as in 'spa.')_

**Alexander:** I didn't THINK so! I was trained by the last and greatest of S.P.A., the dynamic Grecian think-tank of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle! None of you stand a chance against MY impeccable logic!

**Paisley:** _(dramatically)_ So be it. Question One: Rhetoric. This question shall be answered in essay form.

**Alexander:** Bring it.

**Paisley:** If I had a highly functional and expensive sword, like so- _(an ornate sword appears, hovering over the table. Alexander drools slightly and is suddenly mesmerized by its expensive functionality)_-what would differentiate its true self from an equally functional and expensive shield? And, if I melted it down into a viscous metallurgic mass, like so- _(the sword suddenly melts into a floating orb of sizzling metal, and Alex looks crestfallen)_-and then poured all of its contents into a decorative urn for safekeeping, would it still have the same true self? Remember, ALL of the components of the sword are now in the urn.

**Alexander:** Ah, your query is a difficult one… or at least it would be, for an uneducated child! Hah! The sword is differentiated by its swordness. When it is melted, it loses its swordness, therefore becoming something other than a sword and losing its true self in the process. Its true self is now, umm, blobness.

**Paisley: **Well put! Honestly, I thought that you would be all brawn and no brains, Alex. I congratulate you. You will be moving on to the next round. Next, I think that…Rab will go!

**Rab:** Okay.

**Paisley:** Take note, heroes! Rab does not quail from this challenge!

_(A small group, ahem, covey of quail suddenly skitter across the floor and under the table. Sherlock tries to huddle on top of his chair and commences to scream like a girl.) _

**Quail:** Chi-ca-go! Chi-ca-go!

**Paisley:** ANYway, I sincerely hope that you will all take a page out of his amazing yet tragic book and be equally willing to willingly meet every obstacle! Gold Star!

_Rab's gold star from before, which is torn, bloodstained, scuffed, and altogether quite hideous from the fight, is joined by a shiny new one._

**Rab:** *glowing smile of appreciation*

**Paisley:** Question One: American History. Rab, please give us a summary of the rise and fall of the Dominion of New England.

**Rab:** Beg pardon?

**Paisley:** The. Dominion. Of. New. England.

**Rab:** _(suddenly launches into dramatic monologue)_ The Northern colonies that make up our beautiful land, America, have long been called "New England." But is this title true? Nay, I say! No longer will the first and most important of the colonies be squashed under the greedy thumb of Monarchy! No longer will we languish as under-represented slaves to this unjust dominion! By my troth, and with God as my witness, we shall not bend to the whims of an unreasonable monarchy! We, the United Colonies of America, shall OVERCOME!!!

**Paisley:** Umm, Rab? That didn't answer my question.

**Rab: **Yes it did.

**Paisley:** No it didn't.

**Rab:** Yes, it did.

**Paisley:** Didn't.

**Rab:** Did!

**Paisley:** Di-! Wait a minute, why am I even arguing with you? I'm the one holding all the cards here. Is that your final answer, Rab?

**Rab:** You betcha.

**Paisley:** Well, I'm sorry Mr. Silsbee, but it was quite wrong. The Dominion of New England was a consolidation of New Jersey, as well as other territories, under the leadership of the royally appointed Sir Edmund Andros. It eventually came to downfall when Mr. Andros and his lovely wig took the charter away from the legislative assembly, and it all dissolved in a giant mess, the type only we Americans can create, and the townspeople chased Eddy off in a dress and gained their Independence until the next instated Royal Governor arrived. Unfortunately, though inspiring, your uplifting call to arms did not address the question, so you, Rab, are out.

**Rab:** Out..? But, I was winning…I can't…

**Paisley:** Oh, no Rab, of course you aren't _out _out! You're just out of the game for the remainder of today! Not while I have breath in my body will you be _out _out! You just can't win any more points this round, okay?

_Suddenly, the contestants, who are all pretending to do some serious self-induced barfing at this point, hear the sound of a small, furry cat whispering._

**Zuzu: **whisperwhisperwhisperwhisper…

**Paisley: **Oh, fie. Zuzu just told me that I am showing favoritism. ANYway, our time is short, so… Erik, you next!

**Erik:** Do progress, mademoiselle.

**Paisley:** So we have a second gentleman in our midst today! Bravo, monsieur! _(Holden, Alexander, and Sherlock give Erik and Rab dirty looks.) _Question One: Architecture. Give me, _s'il vous plait_, a brief summary of the structural devices that allowed Brunelleschi to build the dome on St. Peter's Basilica during the early to high Renaissance, whereas all other architects failed?

**Erik:** *haughty sneer*

**Paisley:** Well now, Mr. Phantypants, what's this nonsense? I'm sure you know the answer.

**Erik:** Isn't it obvious?

**Paisley:** _(quite icily) _What?

**Erik: **_C'est evident._ It's obvious that it would go against my personal values to study or to imitate the works of other artists of the past. We all know quite well that they and their works could never surpass mine…

**Paisley:** Erik, are you becoming an…objectivist?! Gosh, didn't see that one coming. Not. Anyway, you, my most dear and obstinate Phantom, are aware that this will oust you from the competition for today?

**Erik:** A truly gifted genius never puts personal gain above his ideals. Besides, I know that I will win this contest without the help of a silly quiz. For I am the Phantom of the Opera!!! And the Grasshopper hops jolly high! Mwahahahaha…

**Paisley: **(_with mounting panic)_ Whoa there whoa there whoa there, easy does it! Let's not get too carried away! GUARDS!

_Captain Jack and Cedric apparate in with a pop, and confiscate a keg of dynamite and a book of matches the Erik has extracted from his cape. Erik puts up a fight, but they succeed in tying him up with one of his own nooses and disapparate back out, muttering to themselves._

**Paisley:** Well now, that was interesting, wouldn't ya say, Ericky?

**Erik:** MMPGH!!! _(Did I mention he was also gagged?)_

**Paisley:** My, this seems to be going on quite too long. We shall have to speed the process. Sherlock, quick, recite to me the Photosynthesis process! And step lively!

**Sherlock: **Are mnemonics allowed?

**Paisley:** Whatever! Just realize that we're caught in a time crunch!

**Sherlock:** dun dun dun dun, *snap snap…*

**Paisley:** Seriously? The Addams family?

**Sherlock: **…dun dun dun dun! *snap snap* dun dun dun dun! Dun dun dun dun, dun dun dun dun, dun dun dun, *snap snap…*

**Paisley:** groannnnnnnn…….

**Sherlock:** Six molecules of water, plus six carbon dioxide, add light energy and enzymes, you get six oxygen! Plus C-6-H-12-O-6, and six carbon dioxide, and that's the chemical equation, for Photosynthesis! Dun dun dun dun! *snap snap!* Dun dun dun-

**Paisley:** OOH, very good! If you would stop that incessant snapping now, we can get on with it. The only two heroes still in the game are Alexander and Sherlock, so this will be the tiebreaker round. First question goes to Alex. Question Two: Rhetoric. Answer this question in the most eloquent way possible: Why?

**Alexander:** Why what?

**Paisley:** WHY! Just… Why?

**Alexander:** Oh. Well, urm…

**Paisley:** C'mon! You mean to tell me that you spent the vast majority of your adolescence studying with Aristotle and you can't even answer the most basic question…why?

**Alexander:** Well…no. We actually played a lot of Ultimate Frisbee in his class.

**Paisley:** Wow, didn't see that one coming. Either. So… that means you're out! The correct answer was, by the way, "Why Not?" Sherlock, if you can get this next question right, you get three points and tie for first place! But if you get it wrong, Alexander will get them by default and you'll be up in the looooooooony box with our dear friend the catcher. And, oh boy, is this one going to be a doozy!

**Sherlock:** Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that, Miss Paisley. There is nothing that a combination of deductive reasoning and intuition will not solve. It is all elementary, my dear.

**Paisley:** I can't believe you actually just said that. But _(evil grin)_ I know exactly the question for you. Ya ready?

**Sherlock:** Indubitably.

**Paisley:** Hehe. I'm devious. Question Two: Chemistry. To be answered in under a minute. List all of the Elements on the Periodic Table of the Elements, as of 1970! You may begin.

**Sherlock:** _(absolutely shocked)_ But…but… I'll be one hundred and sixteen years old and probably dead and embalmed in honey by that time! I'll wager that a good two-thirds of those elements aren't even discovered in my native time period!

**Paisley:** You're supposed to be this great Chemical genius, yet you cannot predict diddly. Pish-Posh. Fifty nine…Fifty eight…Fifty seven…

**Sherlock:** Fine! But…but…I need some audience help!

**Paisley:** Who are you going to ask? Fifty four…

**Sherlock:** HIM! _(points dramatically at Erik, who looks taken aback)_

**Paisley:** Hmm, I think the only Elements he knows about are now illegal and subject to up to twenty-five years in a Federal Prison, but it's you're call. Fifty two…

_A handsome grand piano suddenly falls from the ceiling to land in front of Erik with a sickening sound. It crushes the Pentagonal table in the process, and splinters fly everywhere. Through the light mist of wood chips and gilt, Erik flinches and says:_

**Erik:** I refuse to play this inferior instrument! An organ is the only proper instrument for The Phantom of the Opera!!!

**Paisley:** Fine. You guys infuriate me sometimes. Forty-three…

_The piano suddenly changes into a ginormous pipe organ with three keyboards and pipes that poke through the ceiling and come out the walls at funny angles. One of these has shoved itself into Holden's left ear, and he is flailing and shrieking noiselessly. Some sheet music flutters in like a bird and alights on the music stand. It is titled "A Modern Major General: From the Pirates of Penzance"_

**Erik:** Perfect! _(cracks knuckles and begins to play, quite well, of course.)_

**Sherlock:** 's……………

**Paisley:** Forty…

_Sherlock suddenly bursts into song, singing a mile a minute to the tune of "A Modern Major General." Erik is pounding on the organ like there's no tomorrow, and smoke is already starting to come from the keys. The others heroes all look quite stunned. _

**Sherlock:** …Antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium! And hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium! And nickel, neodymium, neptunium, germanium! And iron, americium, ruthenium, uranium!

_Erik does a little, but very rapid, organ riff, and then Sherlock continues._

**Sherlock:** Europium, zirconium, lutetium, vanadium! And lanthanum and astatine and radium! And gold, protactinium and indium and gallium…

_Both pause for breath and take a huge gulp of air._

**Sherlock:** …And iodine and thorium and thulium and thalium!

_To everyone's alarm, Erik seems to be playing faster and faster, but Sherlock just takes it in stride and keeps pace quite admirably. _

**Sherlock:** There's yttrium ytterbium, actinium, rubidium! And boron gadolinium niobium iridium!...

_Sherlock's voice fades a bit, and Paisley addresses the audience._

**Paisley:** There you have it, folks! Sherlock Holmes is hopefully the winner of today's round of fictitious hero idol! Remember, feel free to send fanmail to your favorite hero through reviews! Or just review anyway-

**Sherlock:** _(cutting through) _…Manganese and mercury and molybdenum magnesium!...

**Paisley:** -and stay tuned for the next episode of-

**Sherlock:** _(totally frantic now)_ …Lead! Praseodymium! And Platinum! Plutonium!...

**Paisley:** -Fictitious Hero Idol! Our next theme will be-

**Sherlock:** _(going for broke)_ …argon, krypton, neon, radon, XENON, ZINC and RHODIUM!!! CHLORINE CARBON COBALT COPPER, TUNGSTEN TIN AND SODIUM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Paisley:** - Oh, I give up. Just make sure to watch next time! Ta-ta and cheerio!

**Sherlock:** _(gasping for breath)_ These are the only ones of which the news has come to Haaaaar-vaaaaard….And there may be many others but they haven't been discaaaaar-vaaaard….

**Erik:** *malicious grin* One More Time!

**Sherlock:** *faints*

_The scene fades to the rapid tune of "dud uh dud uh dud, dud uh dud uh, dud uh dud uh, uh!"_


	4. FHI Part IV: Talk Show

**Disclaimer: Same as all the others. New references and quotes come from the new (and good, but untrue to the Doyle) "Sherlock Holmes" movie and to Michael Bublé.** But, as I was in the process of writing this chapter in the FHI series, JD Salinger, the creator of our dear compadre Holden Caulfield, passed away (though Holden isn't the most heroic character ever written, his setting was an artichokin' good book). Let us have a brief moment of silence.

(silence)

-

-

-

-

-

Very well, we shall now begin!

_The scene opens to a slight variation on the room I'm sure you were expecting. The ornately carved, gilt-finished walls are still there. There's still a big, vaulted ceiling, and lots of old paintings on the walls. Holden's box is also up there. But the pentagonal table and its chairs are gone! They have been replaced by a stage, set against one wall of the room, and a few rows of audience chairs facing said stage. On the stage are two chairs facing each other (they look familiar… maybe reused from the original arrangement?) and a large potted dogwood tree. The background of the stage is made up of a number of screens that show a very high-tech looking logo that reads "Fictitious Hero Idol." As a matter of fact, this whole setup looks a lot like the set of a talk show- Dr. Phil, perhaps? Or maybe Live! With Regis and Kelly? Just as you are pondering more examples…_

_Poof! All five contestants appear in the room. Holden poofs into his box, where he immediately begins to beat on the glass with his fists. The other four land in the front row of chairs facing the stage. The portrait of the Victorian lady in pink trying to catch her hat in the wind floats away from its usual spot on the wall and seats itself in one of the chairs onstage._

**Paisley:** *crinkle crinkle* Good Morning, Starshines! The earth says, *crinkle* Hello!

**Erik:** Mademoiselle Paisley-

**Paisley:** *crinkle* Yessssssssss…*crinkle…crinklecrinkle*

**Erik:** Well, first of all-

**Paisley:** *crink-*

**Erik:** AUGH! First of all, what IS that infernal crinkling?

**Paisley:** *crinkle* Oh, this? I have a bag of chocolate chips hidden in my scarf, and I am eating them as I type this.

**Sherlock:** Type? What are you typing? Minerals? Species of small, herbivorous mammals?

**Paisley:** ummm… never mind? We'll just pretend I didn't break the fourth wall just there. Hum de dum dum. Lovely day, isn't it?

**Rab:** _(sounding peeved)_ How should I know, my hotel room doesn't have any windows…

**Erik:** Second of all, I demand that you get rid of the effeminate tree.

**Paisley:** I am insulted! This is my favorite tree!

_The tree sits there, looking very flowery and pink. A small yellow-and-green budgerigar alights in its branches and begins to warble out the tune of an Enya song. _

**Paisley:** fine, fine, no girly tree. What do you suggest we replace it with?

**Alexander:** The charred stump of a Persian Palm Tree! Covered by a new growth of Macedonian Laurels! Bwahahahahahahaha…

**Rab:** A noble Liberty oak, lit with flaming teabags!

**Erik: **A single red rose, tied with a black ribbon… _(suddenly puts his head in his hands and begins to shake uncontrollably. If Phantoms could cry, he would be.)_

**Sherlock:** A yam plant!

**Paisley:** Erik, Erik, clam down, it's okay…

**Alexander:** Haha, clam….

**Erik:** CLAM down?! Do you not remember that my one true love dropped the red rose I gave her and asked her insolent fool of an admirer to "say he loves her every waking moment/turn her head with talk of summertime" and all you can say is to "clam down?" "Calm" would be acceptable but this… this… oh, alas, the world has never shown any sympathy to me now, why shouldst it….

**Paisley:** Ahem. Sherlock, why a yam?

**Sherlock:** The yam is the form of verdure that is synonymous with man… they're only one letter apart, you know. Yam…man…man…yam...

**Paisley:** Okay, I can live with that. I liked the Liberty tree idea, Rabby, but oil paint is highly flammable.

_The dogwood tree and budgie disappear in a puff of smoke, and an ugly wooden barrel containing numerous yam plants appears in its stead. This snaps Erik out of his pity-party._

**Erik:** Ooh, smoke! And where there's smoke, there must be fire… _(he takes a match from his cloak and lights it on the heel of his boot. He then begins to run his gloved finger back and forth through the flame.)_ Heheheh…

**Paisley:** Hold on there, pyro! Did I not just say that oil paint is highly flammable?! Well, I guess this is a great example of the famous Phantom mood swings…. Guards…!

_Cedric and Captain Jack apparate into the room. Cedric points his wand at the match and yells, "Aquamenti!" A jet of water extinguishes the flame, much to Erik's dismay, and Captain Jack forcibly shakes him out by the cloak. A book of matches, a stiletto knife, and five nooses fall to the ground. They are quickly confiscated and the security guards disapparate with a pop._

**Paisley:** Augh, I keep forgetting that you sweat Punjab lassos, Erik. Someone's going to get hurt.

**Sherlock:** Again.

**Paisley:** Sorry, Sherlock. OH, I NEARLY FORGOT! We have a MAIL CALL! _(A white envelope flutters in through a vent in the ceiling.) _Our very first piece of fanmail from one of our loyal audience members has arrived! Alex, Hirenes sent you a letter! I will read an excerpt: and I quote, "I want Alexander to win. Period!" Now wasn't that nice?

_Rab, Erik, and Sherlock pretty much turn green with jealousy. Alexander stands up to make a speech._

**Alexander: **Dearest Hirenes, I thank you sincerely. _(elegant, sweeping bow. He's really turning on the charisma.) _When I win, I shall send you four of Macedon's finest horses and the severed head of any enemy you choose in gratitude for your kindness.

**Paisley:** Readers, take note! I'm sure your favorite hero would love to give you cordial thanks for any message you send to him. But we have been going off on tangents waaaaayyyyy too long- Let me introduce to you the fourth episode of FHI, The Talk Show!

_A theme song begins to play as the logo on the computer screens starts to spin and change colors. As the catchy trumpet fanfare runs, the five heroes present, (all of whom, of course, are from the past), stare with mouths agape at the screens._

**All:** Oooooohhhhhh…Ahhhhhhh…..

**Paisley:** Okey Doke! Let's begin by stating our point totals. Holden Caulfield has been eliminated with a total of zero points. _(A muffled "Cherimoya!" can be heard up in the viewing box)_. Next we have Erik with two points, and, in first, a three-way tie between Rab, Alexander, and Sherlock with three points apiece-

**Erik:** WHAT? I'm LAST? That is impossible! I am the most talented hero here, but because of my face, no one will ever be able to see beyond my appearance to realize it! O horror, horror-

**Paisley:** I wasn't done. And remember, dear Eriky, that Sherlock had the same response last time and now he's in first. _(fist pump from Sherlock.)_ Though none of you come from a time period where talk shows, or even television, are that big of a deal, they are quite popular in today's society. Most focus on one of three things: A) personal problems, B) love lives, and C) both. As a matter of fact, very few talk shows get by without even mentioning these topics. We will be taking course C today, as we examine the intrinsic flaws and romantic escapades that make each of our heroes who they are. But be forewarned; a talk show is only a success when both of these areas are covered. Too little of one or the other will diminish your score in the final tally. Kapice?

**All:** Kaposh!

**Paisley:** Splendid! I don't think we've ever started with Sherlock. He's always late, so, please, Mr. Holmes, take a sit in the hot seat. _(She indicates the chair across from her own.)_

_As soon as Sherlock rises, the theme music starts to play again and the logo spins. He is momentarily stopped in his tracks by the technology, but eventually climbs up to the stage and makes himself comfortable._

**Paisley:** Now, let us welcome Mr. Sherlock Hoooooollllllllmes!

_A very pathetic smattering of claps comes from the audience, and you can even hear Holden booing from his box. Someone, presumably Zuzu the cat, runs an applause track that pretty much drowns out everything else for a few seconds._

**Applause Track: **CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP!!!!

**Paisley:** We'll skip all of the usual chatty, so-what're-you-up-to-now banter and cut to the chase. We know what you've been up to. However, some of us might not know your every little flaw, so, Mr. Holmes, please elaborate: what do you consider to be your hubris?

**Sherlock:** Hmmm… in my stories, Watson seems to say that my arrogance and superiority complex are my greatest faults. However, I see both of these as simple reality. I cannot help that I am so much better equipped in the mental region, true? Of course. My supreme powers of observation and deduction are just plain more than the common man posses. Granted, my personal phrenology- did you know I have written a monograph on the subject?- is also perfectly suited to my profession-

**Paisley:** Sherlock, if you don't mind, you are very flawed, and it will take quite some time for us to cover every one of your other quirks, plus move through your controversial love life. Shakespeare said that brevity is the soul of wit, was absolutely wrong, the pompous ol' windbag, but we will have to use the quote here to speed you along. Please wrap it up.

**Sherlock:** In a phrase, my arrogance is overemphasized.

**Paisley:** Okay, chalk one up on the 'flaws' chart for an inflated ego.

**Sherlock:** Pshaw, I just said-

**Paisley:** Save it, gumshoe. Now, your biographer also writes about your many issues with, umm, substances that are now quite illegal and universally bad for you. How do you explain your less-than-exemplary behavior in this area?

**Sherlock:** My mind rebels at stagnation!

**Erik:** HAH! That's no excuse! Not even once, my friend, not even once. Just say No.

**Paisley:** What's that wallowing sound I hear? Could it be a rare hypocrite floundering down the Nile? DE-Nile is more like it. _(No one laughs at her pun.)_ I'm pretty sure I just choked on the irony… No audience participation, Phantypants. Sorry. So, Sherlock, you're an egotistical, condescending addict with few social skills-

**Sherlock:** I do so have social skills! I just happen to abhor the company of stupid people!

**Paisley:** And most people are "stupid?"

**Sherlock:** In comparison, yes.

**Paisley:** Flippancy too, I see. But that's mostly entertaining, so we'll write it off as an eccentricity… like sawing about on your violin for five hours at a time, or giving up food, sleep, and hygiene to puzzle out a case, or collecting and using superfluously elaborate disguises. We could explore them if we had the time, but we'll just sum up your issues in the words "supercilious," "arrogant," and "druggie." Now to what we're all really wanting to hear about: your love life. Sherlock, have you ever really been in love?

**Sherlock:** No. among my many so-called "faults," you forgot to mention that I shun emotion in all forms, including romance.

**Paisley:** *evil smile to audience* He's hiding something, isn't he?

_Rab, Alex, Erik, and even Holden begin to hoot, holler, and wolf-whistle. Sherlock hunkers down in his chair and looks peeved. _

**Paisley:** Roll the tape, Zuzu!

_On the TV screens behind them, a clip from the brand-new "Sherlock Holmes" movie- the really intense one with Robert Downey Jr. in it- begins to play. It's the scene where Irene Adler catches "Holmes" in her hotel room, trying to pick the lock to get in. It ends in Irene giving "Holmes" a doctored bottle of wine, and giving him a big, wet smooch as he faints dead away. The other contestants laugh uproariously._

**Sherlock:** I have never been so misrepresented in all of my life! In the first place, that actor looks nothing like me! He's scruffy, by George! He would do better to spend his time making amped-up, action-hero, futuristic epics. And second of all, I never can seem to get it through you people's heads: Nothing ever went on between me and Irene! Nothing ever will go on between me and Irene! Just because I refer to her as "THE woman" does NOT mean that I obsess over her!

**Alexander:** _(quite childishly)_ Ooooo…someone has a crush….

**Paisley:** HEY, no audience participation! Sherlock, I'm very sorry we had to watch this, but the same case applies as Rab's embarrassing "Sons of Liberty" ditty. Because "you" did it at one time in your fictitious hero career, we're going to have to use it as evidence.

**Sherlock:** Then I presume that it's a lost cause to defend my misogynisticness.

**Paisley:** Is that even a word?

**Sherlock:** It is now. But I give you my word, by my honor as a servant of the Queen, that I have never been in love. Ever. Zilch, zippo, nada, and nil. Especially with that unseemly Adler person.

**Paisley:** Fine then. We can move o- OH WAIT, THERE'S VIOLET HUNTER from "THE COPPER BEECHES!"

**Sherlock:** _(leaps to his feet and looks around frantically_) WHERE?!?!?

**Paisley:** Heheheh. Just foolin'. I think you aren't telling us everyt- HEY, IT'S MRS. NEVILLE ST. CLAIRE from "THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP!"

**Sherlock:** _(was just about to sit down, but again starts up in excitement. He looks about in distraction.)_ HUH?

**Paisley:** See, Mr. Holmes? Maybe you just refuse to admit it to yourself, but you- IT'S THAT AGNES CHICK YOU ALMOST MARRIED IN "CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON!" and HELEN STONER FROM "THE SPECKLED BAND!!!" and ohmygosh, it's BERYL WHO KEEPS CHANGING HER LAST NAME FROM "HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES!!!!!!"

**Sherlock:** _(pulls his hair out in frustration)_ Halloa, you can't go around giving a fellow such a fright! I'll confess that I believed you about Agnes and Helen, but it was Watson, not I, that had a crush on that Beryl lady!

**Paisley:** _(dryly)_ Foiled again. We'll close your session by saying that, though totally flawed, the ladies go wild for you.

**Sherlock:** Granted they do. I just do not return-

**Paisley:** Time's up! _(she shoos Sherlock out of the chair_.) Next we shall have… Rab! You've been pretty quiet today, Rabbers. Anything the matter?

**Rab:** _(as he sits down with ease. What a natural charmer.)_ Not at all, Miss Paisley. They call me the "Silent Storm." I'm going to let my actions do the talking.

**Paisley:** Isn't that why we love you?!?!?!

**Rab:** *chuckle* I guess so.

**Paisley:** So, flaws: Rab, what do you think is your worst fault?

**Rab:** Oh, there are quite a few… I have a temper… I'm impulsive… and I ate the apple that Cilla gave to Johnny! I'll never forgive myself for that. And I failed at stealing a gun from the British army…

**Paisley:** _(distraught)_ Oh, Rab, these aren't faults! Your temper only comes out when you're defending someone, like the little Webb twins and their cat. Your impulses are always right! And you had no idea about that apple until after you had already eaten it! And failing to do the impossible is no fault of yours!

**Rab:** Ummm…

**Paisley:** You're too wonderful to have any flaws! And you're too wonderful to realize it!!!

**Rab:** _(puzzled)_ I guess if you say so…

**Paisley:** O, what a distressing topic, this finding troubles where there are none! Let's move right along, shall we? Rab, tell us about your love life.

**Alexander:** _(in an undertone)_ But don't name names, or she'll get jealous.

**Paisley:** I HEARD that, Lexi. _(sugary sweet)_ Go ahead, Rab.

**Rab:** Well, as I've already mentioned, I'm a big hit with all of the Lindas and Peggys and Susies of Lexington at country dances, so that's got to count in my favor.

**Paisley:** There is much talk that you were romantically involved with a Miss Cilla Lapham, the eventual sweetheart of your best friend, a Mr. Johnny Tremain. Is this true?

**Rab:** Naw, I would never steal a girl from anyone, particularly from my homeboy Johnny. Cilla and I were just friends, and I really didn't mean to eat the apple! Honest! Bros before h-

**Paisley:** We get it! Please cease and desist with the gangster lingo, it's creeping me out. Now, what about that gorgeous femme fatale, Lavinia Lyte? She's obviously the prettiest person, like, ever, and you two had some close dealings during Johnny's trial.

**Rab:** Why, I would never even consider courting that horrible personage! She has no integrity, which is a most dreadful characteristic for a woman to have. She also has a most unnerving dimple between her eyebrows, and that's all I can see when I look at her.

**Paisley:** That's my Rab! So, you've been the subject of many crushes and romantic speculation-

**Rab:** -But I haven't found my soulmate yet. _(He immediately breaks into the Michael Bublé song "Haven't Met You Yet."): _

And someday I knoooooow it'll all turn out!

You'll make me work so we can work to work it ou-out,

and I promise you, kid, to give so much more than I get,

hmmmm-mmm, I just haven't met you yet!

**Erik:** You were sharp. Then flat. Then hoarse. I just don't know where to begin…

**Paisley: **Oh, give him a break, Eriky! The Sons of Liberty don't care if he's pitch-perfect. Rab, that was amazing. I believe that you are a true romantic. And enigmatic, too! GOLD STAR!!!

_Alexander, Erik, and Sherlock, and Holden too, though you can't hear him, groan as a third shiny gold star appears on Rab's lapel. _

**Paisley:** For the last time, NO audience participation!!! One more peep outta you, and you'll all be sitting up there with Veggie Boy. Thanks, Rab, and excellent job. Let us now proceed to Our Most Esteemed Mr. Phantom!

_Erik and Rab quickly exchange seats. The former looks quite smug. For obvious reasons._

**Paisley: **So, Erik, I'm not even going to try to name your flaws. I'll give you three minutes, let's see how many you can get to.

**Erik: **Very well. I am utterly violent. I enjoy torturing people. I am deceitful. I derive joy from toying with people's minds. I am obsessive, arrogant, controlling, overbearing, temperamental, melodramatic, self-centered, conceited, righteous, overzealous, a perfectionist-

**Paisley:** I suggest making an alphabet of them. You still have two minutes.

**Erik:** Splendid plan! I am full of Avarice, Bent on operatic domination, Controlling, Devious, Evil genius, Flawed, Ghostly, Horrible, Impudent, Jealous, Killing, Lord it over everyone, Manipulative, Nasty, Obsessive, Punishing, Quixotic, Radical, Scheming, Troubled, Unkind, Very Very Violent, Without morals, Xanthous, Yearning for power, and a Zealot.

**Paisley:** Very well done! I never would have come up with "Xanthous" myself. I would have used "Xenial," which you most definitely are not.

**Rab**_**:**__ (politely raising his hand)_ Please define "Xanthous."

**Paisley:** It means "yellow-couloured."

**Rab:** But he's wearing all black and white!

_Erik, with a murderous glint in his eyes, removes one leather glove to reveal a hand that is the sallow color of parchment… in other words, Xanthous. He wordlessly puts the glove back on._

**Paisley:** Moving right along! Erik's love life-

**Erik:** Is the most tragic story ever told! I fell in love with my most gifted student of music, Christine Daae! We were meant to be together! I was her Angel of Music, she was Mine! Together, we were the greatest musical force the world has ever known, or rather, has yet to know for alas, the cruel, cruel world that shuns its disfigured son has torn us apart! Such a love as ours was never meant to be, and yet, and yet… _(suddenly growing angry)_ It will be war upon them both, my dearest Christine and her audacious suitor! I shall reclaim the heart of my beloved and together forever, we shall lose ourselves in the power of The Music Of The Night!!!! I shall be DON JUAN TRIUMPHANT! But, how, how…?

**Paisley: **Okay, Erik, we understand that you are one half of the greatest love ever known to man. I'm sure we can all agree that your impassioned monologue was enough to convince us, so, if Mr. The Great could have his turn now…

**Erik:** NO! I must first decide how to win back the love of my fair Angel!

**Paisley:** Erik, we're running short on time! You need to step down!

**Erik:** Not until I have devised the perfect plot-

**Paisley:** Oh, for pity's sake. Just knock off Piangi and take his place as Don Juan in the new Opera or something.

**Erik:** A phenomenal idea, Mademoiselle… phenomenal indeed… _(wanders offstage, lost in devious thought)_

**Paisley:** Oh cripes, did I just give away the biggest plot twist in his movie? This can't be good…

**Erik:** No…I do not intend to use it now. I shall instead use a trapdoor… during "Faust," perhaps, since you've given me the idea of playing a role…

**Paisley: **Oh, wonderful, I forgot that this is the BOOK Phantom we're dealing with. Phew. Close one. Alex, make yourself comfy.

**Alexander:** Thank you, I will. It's a wonder we Macedonians don't have chairs like this, the closest we have are couches and you have to share them.

**Paisley:** Uh, interesting tangent, but may we proceed? Alexander the Great of Macedon, hopeful Emperor of the World, what do you consider to be your greatest fault?

**Alexander: **Pride! More than once, my need to do the valiant, honorable thing instead of the right thing has gotten me and my men into some sticky situations. When combined with an impetuous and fiery temper, I'm afraid I lose control of myself sometimes.

**Paisley:** Well put, Alex! That wasn't arrogant at all, but, in your book, you have moments when a superiority complex is evident. Care to explain?

**Alexander:** Well, I AM an emperor, king, dictator, and obviously Great. By default, I am just naturally better than most of my subjects. You will note, though, that I have my moments of insecurity, even though I would never let anyone besides my horse see them. I am prideful in the name of all Macedonia! I need to keep my own misgivings a secret for the welfare of my troops.

**Paisley:** Point taken, Alex, but the fact remains that you are a pretty ferocious dude when you want to be.

**Alexander:** I am a soldier by nature. Warfare is an integral part of life in Macedonia. Conquering and the subsequent pillage and plunder are just what we do. If you will, I am a product of my times.

**Paisley:** And so so articulate too. I have to hand it to you, Alex, you have done the best job of glossing over your horrific flaws- violence, pride, anger, and egotism- out of all of us here today. We'll sum it up by saying that you're usually a decent, if overcunning, fellow, until you are crossed. Now, for your love life: Alexander the Great of Macedon, have you ever truly been in love?

**Alexander:** Yes.

**Paisley:** With whom?

**Alexander:** Whom? How droll! My one true love, Miss Paisley, is POWER.

**Paisley:** POWER? That's dumb. What about Roxana? And Stateira? You married both of them!

**Alexander:** *eye roll* for diplomatic reasons only, of course. My love of power usurps my love for, well, love. Like how I usurp small Eurasian nation-states. I decided long ago that romance cannot get in the way of my worldwide conquest. I simply don't have the time.

**Sherlock:** I feel ya, man.

**Paisley:** Shush, Sherly, that was weird…

**Sherlock:** Don't call me SHERLY!!!!!!

_Sherlock leaps up and is about to charge the stage when the security guards come in. Cedric yells "STUPEFY!" and Sherlock is momentarily stunned. A few seconds later he wakes up, and begins to peacefully count the ceiling tiles. Cedric and Captain Jack exchange a fist-bump and disapparate._

**Paisley:** …And Alex, I think it's absolutely terrible that you can't love! I think you're lying to us.

**Alexander:** *confident smile* then let's see you get some proof to back it up. _(he folds his arms and slouches insolently.)_

_One can hear Zuzu frantically wikipedia'ing all sorts of Alex-related media, but she can't come up with a legitimate piece of evidence. In the meantime, one can also hear Sherlock counting._

**Sherlock:** sixty-seven…thirty-five…the integral at f(x) equals two pi root x…

**Paisley:** Well, I stand corrected, Alex. I guess your love for power trumps all. (Alex stands up, bows elaborately, and returns to his seat.) And it must be a very deep love indeed. Now, can someone give Sherly a slap or something? I think he's still slightly stupefied.

**Erik:** With pleasure. (_he wallops Sherlock across the face)_

**Sherlock:** Halloa, what was the for, you awful Xanthous Phantom you? _(He clubs Erik in the shin with a baritsu move.)_

**Erik:** _(in a Phantom rage)_ I beg your pardon, monsieur! _(He pulls out a Punjab lasso from his cloak and begins to strangle Sherlock. Again.)_ You great booby!

**Alexander:** Hey, he agreed with me! Don't do that- ALALALALALAI!!!!! _(He tackles Erik and begins to pound.)_

**Rab:** Oh, cool, a fight! _(dives right in.)_

_The fighting noise fades into the background, though one can still see the four heroes going at it. Paisley begins to narrate._

**Paisley:** Dear viewers, never fear. As we've just been over, violent tempers are major flaws of all of our contestants. I'll get this cleaned up as soon as I give a few parting comments. Remember to send mail to your favored hero, and please do not hesitate to review! Next time we'll see who has gotten booted out, and have another exciting episode ready for you on FICTITIOUS HERO IDOL!


	5. FHI Part IVV: Mail Call and a Surprise

**Disclaimer: Same as every previous one. But I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of you readers for your input, and to cite your letters unto you. Great Job! Quotes today come from dearest Mr. Doyle himself, Oscar Wilde's amazing play, "The Importance of Being Earnest," and the fantabulous movie "Treasure Planet." **

_The scene opens to the same room you have been seeing for the past many episodes, but, this time, it is completely devoid of furniture. The walls still have their many Victorian paintings, including that of the hostess, and Holden's box is still there. With a predictable *pop,* the four contestants and one spectator appear. However, they are quite altogether sprawled on the floor, as they were obviously expecting chairs._

**Sherlock:** What the deuce?! I say, my dear Paisley, what is the meaning of this absence of chairs?

**Erik:** I must agree with the Englishman, my shin hurts. *evil glare at Sherlock*

**Sherlock:** Your SHIN hurts? How do you suppose my windpipe feels right about now?

**Alexander:** _(nursing an arm)_ and my wrist?

**Erik: **_(disdainfully)_ It was your fault for trying to punch my abs of steel, boy.

**Rab:** _(scruffy but not visibly injured)_ Hey, settle down fellas! I think it was a swell fight. Well done to all.

_Alex, Erik, and Sherlock look at him crossly. Alex cocks an eyebrow, Erik reaches inside his cloak, and Sherlock folds his arms and leans against a wall with a pugnacious manner. It looks like they're ready to pick another fight._

**Paisley:** C'mon, heroes! Don't you even want to know who got ousted in the last round? Or what the next theme is going to be?

_The four exchange glances, and then line up against the wall. They are all trying to look blasé, but each is fidgeting. Erik is humming "Point of No Return" at double speed, and Alex is cracking his knuckles loudly._

**Paisley:** Oh, the suspense is killin' ya, isn't it? Let's do mail call while we wait for Zuzu to tabulate! And boy, do we ever have a lot of mail! The fans have spoken out, and each of you has at least one note! So, let us begin tirectly_. (Paisley can be heard rifling through what is presumably a mailbag.) _Sherlock, you have a note from RoseInStillWaters. She says "I'm on team Sherlock! Mr. Holmes, you are the greatest!"

**Sherlock:** _(looking relieved)_ Why thank you, my dearest Miss Rose _(stately bow)_. I'm sure your name amply fits your lovely visage. Had I a rose, I would give it to you at once, but alas, I do not have a rose to either present to you or to expound upon. Therefore, I would like to give to you, instead of your well-deserved rose, this token of my gratitude for your gracious praise…ummm…_(Sherlock madly begins to paw through his pockets. Erik rolls his eyes, Alex yawns and stretches lazily, and Rab begins to chew a thumbnail.)…._ahem…

**Paisley:** We have many, many letters to attend to, Mr. Holmes, so if you don't mind speeding it up a bit we could get on with things.

**Sherlock:** …Oh, balderdash, I've got to have something…AHA! _(he pulls something from the inner pocket of his Ulster)_ Miss Rose, I present to you this singular bit of bloody gauze! You might remember it from its brief appearance in the story "A Study in Scarlet," if you have read the accounts of my exploits. After I took a blood sample from my own finger in order to prove my newest method for determining the age and reality of bloodstains-did you know I have written a monograph on the subject?- I used this gauze to staunch-

**Paisley:** BEQUIETBEFOREIFAINT!!!

**Sherlock:** Beg pardon?

Paisley: Don't even start to talk to me about blood, or I assure you that I will faint dead away and you will be immediately out of this competition. I am blood-o-phobic in the first degree. Now, I can't send any suspicious substances, such as three-year-old bloody gauze, off to poor Rose's computer, so you will just have to give it to her in spirit or something.

**Sherlock:** Killjoy.

**Paisley:** Ahem. *shuffle shuffle* The next letter is for Rab, from Miss Thursday. It is a most concise missal; she says, "Dear Rab: I love you. Please don't die."

**Rab**_**:**__ (stands and bows courteously, but looks a bit confused)_ Miss Thursday, I thank you very much for your support. However, I don't understand why everyone keeps telling me not to die…it's not like I'm just going to go marching off to Lexington and get popped off right off the bat, right? Right? _(an awkward silence fills the room. Zuzu is too busy handing hankies to Paisley to make her cricket noise.)_ Well, ummm…I love you too? If you were here, Miss Thursday, I would gladly dance a quadrille or something with you. But since you are most likely far away, here. _(With a jig-like hop, a skip, and a jump, Rab flourishes out a shiny red apple.)_ Red Delicious! The best kind!

**Paisley**: This I approve of, Rabbykins!

_*poof!* the apple disappears, and presumably reappears on Miss Thursday's keyboard. If it doesn't, Miss T, feel free to blame it on the economy. _

**Paisley:** Okay, moving right along! Our next letter is to THREE of you guys, from Moonspun Dragon. She says: "First, can you please tell Alex that there is really no distinction between "royal" blood and "commoner" blood. Second, tell Holmes that I completely agree with him on how Robert Downey Jr. looked. Finally, tell Erik to stop mourning Christine's loss. She's not going to choose him." Responses?

**Sherlock:** You are an astute observer of character, Miss Dragon. I applaud your judgment.

**Alexander**: Hah! You just say this because you yourself are not a royal! If, like me, you were the son of immortal Zeus, Achilles reincarnated, and the emperor of the entire Eastern hemisphere, I'm sure you would be able to see the distinction. So put that in your pipe and smoke it! INSULTS shall NOT be TOLERATED-

**Paisley:** A bit defensive, are we, Alex? Cool it, please, I'm sure Moonspun meant no harm. How about you, Erik? What do you have to say? …Erik?

_Erik is nowhere to be found. A quick search of the room ensues, and they find him somehow blending in with the shadows of the wainscoting, shaking with sobs._

**Paisley:** Ummm… oh, looky here, Erik! It's another letter for you, and this one is good!

**Erik:** OOH, letter? Read it pleeeeeaaaase!

**Paisley:** yet again, we clearly see the phamous Phantom mood swings of LeRoux lore! This one is from dreamfairy101, and I'm sure it will cheer you right up.

"Dearest Erik,

Let me first say that I'm fully on your team, and in my mind, there is no better hero from the world of fiction other than you (take THAT Edward Cullen! No, not you Cedric, you're fine. (at this point, Cedric pops on in and says, "thanks, that was much appreciated," before popping back out.) You just have the misfortune of having the same actor as the sparkling vampire...). I cringed with you and prayed for your soul as you sang the dreadful song "Love Story." And just so you know, if I was Christine, I would have gone with you no matter what (which includes your dreadful face, one I could probably imagine with all the new technologies special effects) and your terrible mood swings, and your urge to kill and steal. Not only because of your beautiful voice, but because you are a genius in every way imaginable. Christine was an idiot (no offense meant towards your love) for not going with you. I hope that FOP Raoul burns in fictional hell for taking your beloved away from you, and turning your whole opera house against you.  
Go Erik! Just believe in yourself! You aren't so ugly if you're yourself! You can do it!  
Your phorever phaithful phan,  
Hana-chan!

P.S. If Erik doesn't win, Mr. Holmes should! You rock my sox!"

**Sherlock: **Gee, I really do appreciate being second place. But thanks_. (head-nod of acknowledgement)_

**Erik:** My, that was…touching…here, for you_. (Erik holds out a red rose, tied with a black satin ribbon. Here it is, dreamfairy. -----^-----. Then his mood changes.)_ But honestly, I do not understand this morbid fascination that everybody seems to have with this E—

**Paisley**: Please refrain from mentioning this certain entity. Acknowledgement of it would mean that I appreciate that it is a legitimate literary element, which it is not. Now don't you have an articulate thanky-you to finish?

**Erik:** Oui, Mademoiselle. _(mood swings again) _And now, my dearest dreamfairy/Hana-chan, I shall sing for you! _(Erik belts out a splendid…)_ I AM YOUR ANGEL OF MU-SIIIIC!

**Paisley:** *wipes away a bit of drool* That's much better now, my masky friend! Let's proceed to this next letter, which is to both Sherlock and Erik from Anawey. She says:

"Holmes and Erik should win! Yes, both of them. Holmes is sexy (especially the Jeremy Brett Holmes), and Erik deserves some recognition." Ooooh, Sherlock…_(Sherlock has turned a bright shade of vermillion, and has pulled his Ulster's collar up to his ears and yanked his deerstalker down to the proximity of his nose.) _It's okay, Sherlock. I know you Victorians don't ever talk like that, but it's normal in the twenty-first century…c'mon, don't be so bashful…

_A hand emerges from Sherlock's pocket, and disappears inside his hat/collar cave. It eventually becomes clear that he is trying to blow a kiss to Anawey. Here it is: *_

**Erik:** Why thank you, Mon cher Anawey. Here, a rose for you as well! _(----^----)_ I am glad that somebody properly grasps the degree of my greatness…

**Alex:** _(wakes up from a quick snooze)_ Huh? Who, me?

**Paisley:** Go back to sleep, Lexi. If you want to be ousted this round.

**Alexander:** I'm awake! I'm awake!!!! Alive! Awake! Alert! Enthusiastic!!!

**Paisley**: Good, because we have a reply from Hirenes, your fan from last time. She says:

"My Dearest Mr. The Great:  
Thanks you very much for your kind, uh, thanks. You are very welcome for the emotional support.  
And as for the enemies' head on a plate... how about Stateira or Roxana? *saucy wink*  
3 Hirenes."

**Alexander:** Well now, that just might cause a rift in my great empire and plans for world domination, Lady Hirenes, but I'll see what I can do. *returns saucy wink*

**Paisley: **Our last letter, or, rather, phrase, is from HistoryHound, who says "Agh, I'm torn between Holmes and Erik!"

**Sherlock and Erik**: _(in unison)_ Thank you kindly, ma'am!

**Paisley:** Well now, that thanks has been given where it was due, all of you are in a much better mood and we are ready to get on with things. This means, of course, that someone is going to have to go. Zuzu, the scores, please?

_The heroes hold their collective breaths and break out in collective cold sweats._

**Paisley:** In alphabetical order, the scores are as follows. Drumroll, please. Mr. Alexander The Great, you, at this point, have a grand total of three-point-five points. Erik, Phantom of the Opera, you have four. Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you have five points, and Rab Silsbee, you also have three-point-five. Meaning that, OH DEAR, we have two eliminations!

_Rab and Alex look at each other, perplexed and slightly unhappy. Their imminent removal has obviously not sunken in yet. However, both Sherlock and Erik are breakin' it down and doing some pretty awful boogies in celebration of their success._

**Alex:** Wait a minute…does that mean….

**Rab:** …so we have to…

**Paisley:** Yes, boys, I'm dreadfully sorry, but your point totals just don't meet par for this next round. While you are both amazing heroes, your showings in the last round of competition were lacking. Alexander had all the flaws needed, and then some, but isn't exactly the romantic needed to win this game. Rab was romantic enough, with all of those horrible Lindas and Peggies and Suzies of his, but, as we have reiterated, is flawless.

**Alexander:** _(both impassioned and angry. He is glowing slightly, as violent tempers become him) _So just because I spend all of my time doing vitally important, earth-shaking, history-making things instead of mooning about under some girl's window and quoting Goethe, I can't be a hero? What kind of world is this? I should be the one judging this show! I am the son of Zeus, Achilles reincarnated, the-

**All:** WE KNOW!!!

**Sherlock:** and, besides, Goethe is always pithy. Did you know I have written a monograph on the subject?

**Alex:** _(bitterly)_ On what subject? Securing a happy future for yourself by doing absolutely NOTHING of consequence???

**Sherlock:** No, upon Goethe being always pithy- _(pause to recapture thread of conversation)_ AND I beg your pardon! I'll have you know that my intellect is responsible for the security and recovery of billions of pounds worth of- OOF!

_Alexander has tackled Sherlock and is pummeling away. Sherlock it trying to throw in some baritsu moves whenever possible. Erik and Rab look very excited, and as a matter of fact are already rolling up their sleeves and adjusting their masks in order to join the fray. Just as they dive into the heap…_

**Paisley**: guys…dudes…calm yourselves…_(in a deep, mannish voice)_ STOP!

_They all stop, surprised. _

**Paisley:** ahem. Cough, cough. *gagging noise* Well, that certainly stretched my poor ol' vocal cords to their limits…

**Erik:** Mon Dieu, you'll never be able to sing again!

**Paisley**: You wouldn't have wanted to hear me in the first place, Phantypants. At any rate, it was worth getting you to stop pounding 'pon each other. You heroes fight far too much, so, from this moment on, I'm going to set in place a ban. You know, like Holden's anti-swear ban. But I'll take it one step further… instead of your fightin' words being turned to fruits and vegetables, YOU shall turn into fruits and vegetables if you so much as sissy-slap one of your fellow heroes. Do I make myself clear?

**All:** _(quite subdued)_ Crystal! Transparently so!

**Paisley:** Well, then, RISE, SIRS, FROM THESE SEMI-RECUMBENT POSTURES!!! IT IS MOST INDECOROUS!!!!!

_Very courteously, the four gents on the ground help each other to their feet and help one another to straighten their ulsters/capes/tunics/puffy shirts. _

**Paisley:** Now that's what I like to see! Gold Stars!

_Every hero receives a gold star this time, even though Rab's is suspiciously larger than all of the others. Alex, Erik, and Sherlock give him peeved looks, but are generally good sports about it. In a fake, forced sort of way._

**Erik:** I do admire your star, there, young friend.

**Sherlock:** Indeed, old boy, it is a most singular luminary.

**Alexander:** Um, yeah, it's, uh, shiny… _(undertone)_ BUT you're forgetting, Rab, that we just got trounced! What do you say we stage a good, old-fashioned mutiny, eh? _(friendly elbow-poking-in-ribs. Rab looks apprehensive, glancing from his star to Alex, and then back again.)_

**Paisley:** You, Alexander, should know just as well as anyone that mutinies never work…how do you feel about, say, lardizabalas?

**Alexander:** Lardy-za-what whats?

**Paisley:** You mean to tell me that you have conquered the kingdoms of Asia, but have never heard of a Lardizabala? For shame!

**Alexander:** …….

**Paisley:** Well, it's an edible fruit related to the magnolia, SO THERE. And I could turn you into one like *finger snap* that!

**Alexander:** Right, right, but I still think that we need a second chance. I mean, you probably have some sort of contract for a certain number of episodes, and our dual elimination will leave you one short of the quota.

**Paisley:** Wow, Alex, I never thought that you would have such deep knowledge of contracts and the like. You have a point-

**Alexander:** Contracts? Hah! I am an Imperial diplomat.

**Paisley:** -how about this, Rab and Alex? After I think of a good topic for today's show, I'll come up with some sort of test to get one of you guys back on. How does that sound?

**Rab:** Perfect!

**Paisley:** Like you. *Zuzu smacks her*

**Alexander:** I accept!

**Sherlock:** _(graciously interrupting)_ Well now, since that's all shipshape, let's pick a theme for today post-haste. I am in a winning mood.

**Paisley:** I know! A cooking show! How does a cooking show sou-

_**BOOM!!!!!**_

_Everyone looks about them to find the source of the BOOM!!!!! It seems that, from out of nowhere, two new characters have arrived! One is a classically handsome, aristocratic-looking young man with shiny, shimmery, lustrous hair that makes you jealous!!! The other is an older, creepy-looking gent with eyes peering out from under his bulbous, overhanging forehead!!! He is holding a briefcase and looks malicious!!!!_

**Sherlock:** Phrenology like that only happens once…Moriarty!

**Erik:** Raoul de Chagney!

**Moriarty:** Holmes!

**Raoul:** Phantom!

**Holden:** _(muffled)_ Asparagus!

**Rab:** Creepers!

**Alexander:** Sissies!

**Paisley:** ummm…Paisley!

**Moriarty:** sTOP iT!

**Paisley:** Why are you capitalizing in that fashion, you old coot?!?!

**Moriarty:** i dUNNO. yOU probablY lefT youR cAPS lOCK oN. I'll stop. Now…_(sounding most sinister) _my client and I have a suit to file against these two imposters! _(he indicates Sherlock and Erik, who look both angry and aghast.)_

**Paisley:** Just you hold on a second, Moriarty! I still need to introduce you to our general audience. Gentle viewers, these two interlopers are Professor James Moriarty- he's the old one- who is a criminal mastermind, evil genius, arch-nemesis of Sherlock Holmes, and professor of mathematics-

**Moriarty:** And as of last month, a prosecuting attorney.

**Paisley:** No interruptions! This other person *coughsFOPcoughs* is the Vicompte Raoul de Chagney, Parisian socialite, aristocrat, and rival of Erik Phantom of the Opera, for the affections of a Miss Christine Daae!

**Raoul:** And I'm a lawyer too!

**Moriarty:** _(undertone)_ No you're NOT, you stupid, ignorant-

**Raoul:** _(whiny)_ But I wanna be a lawyer!

**Moriarty:** hush! I'm the lawyer, you imbecilic, driveling galoot!

**Raoul:** Ga-loot…GAloot…galooooooooot… _(suddenly serious and mature-ish sounding, he straightens his cravat.)_ Ahem, yes, and we have a case to pursue.

**Paisley:** Well, whyever would you want to sue these two gentlemen here? Besides the fact that you are archenemies, of course.

**Moriarty:** My client and I believe that a Mr. Erik Phantom is posing as a hero in order to derive gain from this game show. We believe that Mr. de Chagney is the true hero in the multimedia conglomerate genre of "Phantom of the Opera-" themed substances. Furthermore, we would like to instate Mr. de Chagney as a replacement for Mr. The Phantom on the medial entity "Fictitious Hero Idol," have Mr. the Phantom given a restraining order to stay at least one hundred meters away from the Miss Daae in question, and to permanently suspend him from claiming the "hero" title.

_A horrified silence permeates the room. Erik looks quite murderous, but knows exactly what will happen if he attempts to strangle either of his accusers. Finally, Sherlock, obviously in anticipation of getting Moriarty's goat, speaks up._

**Sherlock:** So what do you propose we do, Moriarty? I don't see a courtroom, judge, or jury! I don't even see a defense attorney!

**Moriarty:** *smile of pure villainy* That is where you, Mr. Holmes, come in. Miss Paisley, in the Constitution of the Fictional Heroes' Union, clause four, section five, paragraph one states that any challenge of heroic status amongst fictional characters must be tried in a legal court setting, judged by a jury of peers. I nominate Holmes as the defense lawyer, in order that he and I may have a… rematch in our eternal battle of wits.

**Sherlock:** Posh-tosh and bloody rubbish!

**Erik:** _(finally unfreezing from his homicidally stunned state, he takes on an Alexesque rage.)_ How dare you question my heroics! I am Erik, the Phantom of the Opera! I am the Angel of Music! I am Red Death! I am-

**Sherlock:** _(holding a hand up gallantly to Erik for silence.) _Monsieur Phantom, you have yourself a lawyer. May I borrow one of those? _(Erik peels off one of his black leather gloves and hands it over to Sherlock. Sherlock hucks it at Moriarty.) _The gauntlet is thrown, Moriarty! I accept your offer. Prepare to be vanquished!

**Erik:** _(throws his other glove at Raoul, who was entranced by the mirrored ceiling and was not paying attention. The glove slaps the Vicompte across the face, and he commences to howl. Tensely:)_ And you, you insolent, great booby, will find that trifling with the Angel of Death never ends *vampire smile* well.

**Sherlock:** It falls to you now, Paisley. Will you tolerate this infringement of conduct on your gameshow?

**Paisley:** Well, I could always cancel… do you know how much paperwork I'm going to have to wade through to bring in all the extra people we're going to need to pull this off? And I would never want to give you two a chance to lose to Raoul de Chagney of all people…

**Erik:** _(thinking fast, he sings)_ Pais-ley, Pais-ley, don't think that I don't care, but every hope, and every prayer rests on you now…

**Raoul:** That was catchy. I'll have to use it some time…

**Paisley:** Oh. My. Goodness. I can't believe that PTO himself just sang…to ME! EEEEEEEKKKKK! *implosion*

**Sherlock:** Miss Paisley?

**Paisley:** _(as she realigns)_ Ah, yes. Dearest Sherlock. My most esteemed Erik. And my reviled Moriarty and Vicompte. I will hold the most spectacular and efficient trial ever to be presented to a viewing audience! Stand back, fellas, we have some rearranging to do. FWEET!

_At Paisley's whistle, the room seems to sway. A huge, elaborate jury box drops from the ceiling. A platform, rostrum, and those strange little cages witnesses testify from spring from the ground like daisies in springtime. Rows of chairs for the audience speed in from the sides, arranging themselves in proper courtroom fashion. A stenographer's desk and a typewriter spontaneously appear. Finally, a gavel pops onto the rostrum, just asking for someone to bang it. The heroes and antiheroes stand in the middle of it all, looking most stunned. _

**Paisley: **Ladies and Gentlemen! Kitties and paintings! Heroes of all ages! Welcome to the fifth episode of Fictitious Hero Idol, the Courtroom Drama!

**M'apologies, everyone, but this chapter was getting far too long, what with all of the mail and eliminations, to keep as one. So I split it in two too get it posted faster! Let's just say that I am thrilled for the rest of our court to show in the next section… it'll be amazingly drahm-atic! So stay tuned and keep on reviewing/mailing! ~Paisley**


	6. FHI Part V: Courtroom Drama!

**Well well well, isn't this just the most exciting thing since sliced butter? Or even since butter in general (mmmm, butter!)? Thanks for waiting so patiently for our little cliffhanger to complete itself. Citations for all of the extraneous characters that come in today will be at the end of the chapter, so as not to spoil it for y'all. Now, let the trial begin!**

_The scene opens to a tableau of how we just left it- Holmes, Erik, Moriarty, and Raoul are all in mid-yell, and look most violent. Rab and Alexander actually look miffed on the behalf of their fellow heroes (?). The furniture is just as gilded and intricate, if not moreso, as before, but there are about twenty more chairs in the audience section. Holden is in mid-pound on his glass, and is halfway through mouthing "Pickles!" With a *pop,* the tableau unfreezes, and all broccoli breaks loose._

**Moriarty:** -pretentious, juvenile idiot!

**Erik:** -Insolent boy!

**Holmes: **-pea-brained, ignoramus, immoral-

**Raoul:** -ugly, wannabe psycho!

**Paisley:** Fellas! That's enough! Settle down… aha! BANG BANG! _(she somehow remotely lifts the gavel and sends it down twice, calling the room to order.)_ Much better! If you please, take your seats. Sherlock and Erik, take this table on the left. You two… critters on the right. Alex and Rab, you guys can get front row seats. And Holden? _(Holden looks most hopeful, and stops pounding on the glass)_ Yes, you can come down here too, but you've got to promise to be well-mannered. Okay?

**Holden**: _(you can read his lips as he says)_ Okay! Affirmative! Yes yes yes ma'am!

**Paisley:** down you come! _(a trapdoor in the box opens, and Holden falls neatly into a seat. He immediately frolics over to where Rab and Alex are sitting, and plops down in between them. Both move one seat away.)_ Lawyers, please prepare any sort of paperwork you have at this time. Now, folks, let's welcome our multitude of guests today! First, our stenographer will be the one, the only Zuzu Cattenmuffins! _(A small yet plump grey-and-black striped cat appears in the middle of the room, and minces over to the typewriter.)_

**Erik:** Oh, a kitty! You know I adore kitties! _(he hurries over to Zuzu and begins to pet her ears. Zuzu begins to purr loudly.)_ Sweet little kitty cat! _(everyone else in the room makes retching noises)_ You remind me of my Aisha…

**Paisley:** Wow, the Phantom of the Opera is babytalking to my cat. Now I've heard it all…ANYway, let's proceed! Our bailiff today is Captain Jack Sparrow! _(Captain Jack apparates in, holding a copy of some very old tome. That's a book.)_ Our sergeant at arms will be our good friend Cedric Diggory! _(Cedric follows.)_

**Cedric:** I FIND this courtroom to be in good taste.

**Paisley:** Of course you do…make sure to keep your wand at the ready, Cedric. Things could get hairy. Especially because we're about to enter…THE JURY!

_An unearthly screech suddenly starts up, and in a puff of smoke, a Victorian portrait of a girl in a blue dress, looking out to sea appears in the chair next to Alexander. He hurriedly goes to sit on the other side of Rab. _

**Portrait:** *drools*

**Erik: **Do we even want to know?

**Paisley:** You probably should. My dearest little sister, Blue Willow, has recently blackmailed me into letting her sit in on the proceedings. The jury, you see, must be made up of your peers. Erik, your peers are fictitious heroes. And Blue is obsessed. She threatened to eat my share of berry pie if I didn't let her in, so I obviously had no choice. Don't mind her.

**Erik:** D'accord.

**Sherlock:** *looks pensive, like he's planning something.*

**Paisley:** Please hold your applause for the end. Heroes. Villains. Cats and sisters. Revered audience. I would like you to meet our most esteemed jury! First, let's have our two foremen come out. Here they are now! _(A darkly handsome, enigmatic aristocrat who pretty much reeks of revenge and a dignified, well dressed noble with a quizzical brow poof on into the room)_ It is my great honor to welcome our eminent foremen, Edmond Dantés, Count of Monte Cristo, and the wonderful Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley! _(both men takes seats in the jury box, nodding handsomely.)_ These two are truly examples of what a hero should be… excuse me a moment, so I may scream my happiness at their presence into my rug. *muffled EEK!* Ahem. Now, let's welcome three superb men of action-

_Three more hotties appear. One is dressed all in black with a puffy shirt and ninja mask, and has shining blond hair. He also has snazzy swordfighter boots, and looks piratical. The next has rippling muscles and is wearing regular modern clothes and a buzzcut, but has the poise of a cobra. He is already scoping out the room for potential enemies. He gives the "I'm watchin' you" sign to Moriarty. The third is a rugged individual wearing a fedora and outdoorsy clothes, and carries a bullwhip. He has the one of the most charming smiles you have ever seen. You subsequently melt a bit._

**Paisley:** These three talents are Westley, aka the Dread Pirate Roberts, Jason Bourne, the most resiliently gorgeous assassin any of us would care to know, and Indiana Jones, swashbuckling archeologist! _(the three take their seats.)_ Let's now bring in a couple of classic gentlemen-

_Enter a tall, muscular, suave man with perfectly styled black hair and a 'stache to match. He has the dangerous grace of a panther, and is nattily dressed. Following him is a moodily dreamy fellow with leading man hair and a brooding look in his striking dark eyes. They too take their seats._

**Paisley:** these two chaps are Rhett Butler, the confidently flawed hero of the South, and Mr. Edward Rochester, the master of Thornfield manor and a perfect example of a Romanticist. Seven down, five to go, is it? Well readers, do I ever have a treat for you! We've now got three more…shall-I-say contemporary heroes comin' down the pike!

_In response, three more jurists pop on in. The first can't be older than seventeen, has an interesting, futuristic haircut that involves a small braid, and looks steampunkily piratical. The second is ruffianish yet elegant, has an easy smile, and looks to be dressed in positively medieval clothing. These two take their seats. The third is about to come in when a scuffle ensues at the point of entry! Cedric leaps into the skirmish and begins shooting off hexes and spells left and right, and finally separates THREE belligerents! _

**Cedric:** Stupefy! Stupefy! And…AVADA KED-

**Paisley:** Cedric! Stop! Why would you use a killing curse on…OH.

_Just as you were dreading, a certain modern-day being of questionable heroicness has broken and entered. Cedric is glaring daggers, poison-tipped blowtorch arrows, and multiple rounds of an Uzi at him. Yes, it's Cedric's creeperly doppelganger, the one we narrowly avoided discussion of last time, looking quite stoned as he floats around in midair in the throes of Mr. Diggory's levitation curse. The other two newcomers are momentarily forgotten._

**Paisley:** I…I don't understand! How could such an ickishly non-heroic individual get into MY heroic gameshow? With the Union's rules, I'll never be able to send him/it back!

**Cedric:** I FIND that in these cases, ma'am, it's usually the strong arm of popular culture that allows for such a travesty.

**Paisley:** Well, I guess we always have Holden's box. We can just store him in there for the duration of the show.

**Holden:** For limabeanssake! I feel all insulted!

**Paisley:** I'm sorry, Holden, but it's the lesser of two weevils- er, evils.

_With a poofing sound, the intruder is whiffed up into the box, where he continues to sit and stare blankly. Then, everyone shifts their focus to the two others floating about the ceiling. One is attired in a chest-baring white puffy shirt and is either Egyptian or Spanish or both. He has a dazzling grin and mischievous eyes that make you giggle. The other……well…_

**Paisley:** Drats, I was counting on only one of you two being able to make it. But all's for the best in this best of all possible worlds; so it's an oh goody that both of them could come! This attractive fellow in the white is Jesse. However, I don't quite know which Jesse he is, because two of my favorite modern teen romance novels have a Jesse that looks like this for their hero. Only in one he's a ghost and the other, a selkie. So we can just call this one "Generic Jesse," okay? Welcome, Generic Jesse! Our next guest is Olympic Champion ice skater, Evan Lysacek!

_Suddenly, alarm bells begin to go off, and the tall personage in a black skating suit begins to dematerialize. _

**Evan Lysacek:** *looks confused*

**Paisley:** But…but…but…!

**Moriarty**: _(snidely)_ Oh please, you sound like a motorboat. Your cat thing seems to be saying that real, actual, living, breathing, genuine people, heroic though they may be, aren't allowed into fictitious assemblies.

**Zuzu:** hisssssssssssssssssssssssss…………

**Paisley:** _(sighs in resignation whilst Evan continues to dissolve.)_ Well, it was worth a shot. At least I got to see His Majesty, The King of Icy Hotness, in the flesh, for a few seconds… _(suddenly brighter)_ Now, audience, I'm sure your heads are just spinning right now! Don't worry, only two more jurists to bring in! The last three were, for reference, Jim Hawkins of the RLS Legacy, Jesse from… from… well, I guess we can say our Generic Jesse hails from California, both of them do- and Tristan, the original Romeo of ancient Anglia! Altogether, minus and absent Evan and a sparkly nocount, that makes ten! Two more, you say? You're in luck, because these two are both polymathic geniuses!

_The last two jurors enter. The first has a dashing blond Beatles haircut, is dressed in black spy gear, and is the walking, talking (with a Russian accent!) definition of 'suave.' The final hero is a pale young man with neatly rumpled jet-black hair and is attired in designer clothes. One of eyes is blue, and the other hazel. He looks wicked smart. _

**Paisley:** The last two are, respectively, Ilya Kuryakin, the best-looking and smartest Man to hail from U.N.C.L.E., and Mr. Artemis Fowl, boy genius, self-made billionaire with supernatural connections, and titled aristocrat. And he has an Irish accent. So now, please applaud for our jury!

**Raoul:** _(whiny) _I'm confuuuuused…

**Paisley:** Ugh. Let's list 'em all then, shall we? Our jury, in order of appearance, includes The Count of Monte Cristo, Mr. Darcy, Westley, Jason Bourne, Indiana Jones, Rhett Butler, Mr. Rochester, Jim Hawkins, a Generic Jesse, Tristan, Ilya Kuryakin, and Artemis Fowl. Gosh this is epic. Saavy?

**Captain Jack: **Savvy!

**Blue Willow:** *GALP!*

**Paisley:** Great! Let's applaud now.

_A nice smattering of applause comes from the front row, but Paisley is still compelled to bring in a clap track to make up for the lack of an audience._

**Applause Track:** clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap!

**Paisley:** Note to self: find a studio audience. Now, everybody, let me tell you about the selection of our judge today. The jury was easy to pick- they're simply my favorite heroically heroic heroes. The judge, though, would have to be someone of a different personality. The members of the jury, if given the task of making the final decision alone, might be swayed by the fact that the defendant, Erik, seems to be one of them. They might be biased since Moriarty is obviously a villain. These feelings will be tempered by the rest of the jurists, making this a fair trial. However, I needed a judge who isn't so sure of himself. I need a judge who, though heroic, just doesn't know what to think anymore. He must be…soooo confused. That is why, ladies and gents, I decided upon today's judge. All rise for the honorable James Stark!

_A handsome young man, straight from the nineteen fifties, appears. By golly, it's James Dean in his signature role! It's the definition of cool himself! He looks gorgeously disenfranchised, and is looking about the room, violently perplexed, and is mumbling._

**James Stark:** I don't know what to think anymore…I'm soooooo confused….

**Paisley:** See why I picked 'im?

**James Stark:** I don't want anything. I think I'm nervous…

**Paisley:** Just put your head down on your pulpit for a coupla minutes, okay, Jamie?

**JS:** Jamie? _(complies anyway, and is soon lost in an angst-y snooze.)_

**Alexander:** MAY we sit down now, Miss Paisley?

**Paisley:** Of course, of course! _(all sit, sighing in relief.)_ Right, then! We've got all the necessary fixtures of a courtroom… except that I'm not going to use that pathetic applause track next time we need an ovation. So, please welcome our live audience! _(groans all 'round)_ Let's bring in the crew of the HMS _Surprise_…and the prisoners of war from "The Great Escape…" and the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen! But not the Vampire chick. She'd murder our resident pariah, and, joy though that would be, I'd be slapped with a fine big enough to dwarf Erik's ego! And plus, she's not a hero! So, let's send in the audience!

_The audience appears in their seats, and begins to talk amongst themselves. There are many manly back-slaps and handshakes exchanged. Blue Willow tips over on her side from joy, and begins to inch towards Dr. Maturin-he's from the _Surprise_-'s feet. He mumbles something about "unnatural," and begins to edge away._

**Paisley:** Heavens that took a long time! Five whole pages on Word!

**Sherlock:** There you go, being cryptic again…

**Paisley:** What? Peppercorns? I really have no idea what you are talking about, dearest Holmes, so if we could just move along… Judge Stark, could you call this room to order?

**JS:** *wakes up in mid-snore* Huh? Oh, right, right. I woke up this morning, you know... and the sun was shining, and it was nice, and all that type of stuff. And the first thing, I saw you, and, uh, I said, "Boy, this is gonna be one terrific day, so you better live it up-"

**Paisley:** Order?

**JS:** Uh, yeah…ahem, order in the court. _(he gives the gavel two mild bangs, and promptly slouches back in his seat in a pugnacious way. Everybody else quiets down and looks up attentively.)_

**Paisley:** I suppose I'd better do the announcing. Jamie here only quotes pearls of beatnik wisdom, and saying "Mr. Moriarty, please come forward and make your argument" isn't exactly a pearl.

**Moriarty:** Shall I?

**Paisley:** YES of course you should! Mr. Moriarty, PLEASE come forward and MAKE your ARGUMENT!

**---------Note: If you wish to keep from smashing your computer screen in rage at the dastardly Moriarty, I suggest you skip his testimony. It deeply pains me to have to write such horrible things about dear, dear Erik, but there simply would be no trial at all without them. Now, try to keep your cool…carry on then. Tally ho!---------------**

**Moriarty:** hmph. _(he glides, batlike, out of his chair and up to the front of the room.)_ Your honor. Members of the jury. I am here today to present to you a tale of great woe. My client, Mr. Vicompte Raoul de Chagney, has been misrepresented as the antihero, nay, villain, of every manifestation of the media sensation, "The Phantom of the Opera." This tragedy has subjected M. de Chagney to slander and libel-

**Sherlock:** That's not possible. Libel is-

**JS:** *bang!* ORDER in the court! _(he resumes his slouch, smiling smugly. Jamie is beginning to enjoy this.)_

**Moriarty:** AS I was saying, my client has been subject to false accusations, attacks on his character, motives, and hairstyle, among other aspects of himself, and has been horribly taunted and even threatened with bodily harm whenever he enters a fictitious heroes' hangout…it is most destructive to his previously healthy, or, rather, dare-I-say, overinflated, ego.

**Erik:** Oh listen, Holmes. He's implementing periphrasis…

**JS:** *bangbangbang* ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURT!

**Moriarty:** _(casts a dirty look at the opposition)_ That is why I implore you, kind jury, to find the hero beneath the false front popular culture has constructed to obscure the rightful nature of M. de Chagney! It is your duty, nay, your privilege, to expose Mr. Erik of the Opera, or whatever his ugly face is, as a fraudulent hero and give my client his due place in our universe!

**Erik:** *broils angrily behind his mask, but is on his best behavior. He is turning the arm of his chair to sawdust.*

**Paisley:** _(through clenched teeth)_ Would you care to call your first witness, Moriarty?

**Moriarty:** Certainly. I call to the stand Mr. Joseph Bucquet, the late scene-shifter of the Opera Garnier!

_J. Bucqs appears, near to Captain Jack and his book. He looks bewildered, but is dead, so nothing really phases him._

**Captain Jack: **Do you sweah, on Homeh's _Odyssey_, the quintessential heroic tale, to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothin' but the truth?

**Joseph Bucqet:** *raises hand and swears*

**Captain Jack:** Savvy!

**Moriarty:** Have a seat, Monsieur. Please tell us about your death.

**Joseph Bucquet**: _(here, the witness goes off into a long-winded, nearly incoherent rant. Having lost the faculties of his windpipe and voicebox upon his death, J Bucqs is obviously saying something, but only Moriarty and Sherlock seem to understand.)_

**Moriarty:** Thank you, Monsieur, you may go. *disappears* Our witness has testified; he has stated that Mr. Erik of the Opera killed him premeditatively, and had a penchant for violence and terror tactics among Opera employees for as far back as anyone can remember. I ask you, jury, does this sound like heroic behavior? Food for thought. Now, I call to the stand a few more victims of this doubtlessly villainous individual…

_(it would take far too long to cover this series of testimonies. They come from victims of the book-, movie-, and musical-verses. Basically, the characters of Ubaldo Piangi, Compte Phillipe de Chagney, Mssrs. Andre and Firmin, the managers of the Opera, Carlotta Giudicelli, La Sorrelli and her chorusgirl minions, numerous freakshow workers, and a score of audience members from a certain performance of "don Juan Triumphant" come and voice their complaints against Erik. They range from him strangling them with their own bolo ties to implementing The Many and Varied Uses of a Safety Pin against them. Torture chambers, falling chandeliers, and mental manipulation are all cited as his weapons of choice. They all swear on the Odyssey, testify, and depart. Things look mighty bad for team Holmes-Phantom.)_

**Moriarty:** Would a hero do these things? Clearly, our defendant is a villain, not a hero. As for the definition of a hero- I would like to bring forward Mr. Ed-

**Paisley**: LALALALALALALA!

**Moriarty:** -llen. (the detested vacuum void of literary significance drops from the trapdoor, and shuffles up to the stand, sweahs.) Mr. C-

**Paisley:** LALALALA!

**Moriarty:** _(looking annoyed)_ -len, you are accepted by thousands of drooling, screaming, lovelorn preteen girls as the absolute essence of the heroic. What is your opinion on this mix-up of places? You know, just file a bit of an amicus curiae or something.

**Paisley:** Impossible! Amicus curiaes must be impartial and well-educated on the subject, something this nonentity has neither of.

**JS:** Order. *meek bang*

**E---C---:** _(mumbling, you can barely understand him. He fixes everyone in the room with an intent, glarey glare. All at once. What a creep.)_ Uhhhh… obviously, having y'know like nice hair is what is important in a hero. And he has to get the girl. And it would help if he were sometimes like a male chauvinist, cuz that's manly. *breathy, angsty siiiiiiiiiigh* And I think that the guy in mask isn't perfect enough, y'know how heroes should be like, perfect?

**Moriarty:** See? If Mr.… well, this young man right here says Mr. the Phantom isn't heroic, he must not be. Now shoo! _(even Moriarty seems mortified by the stony daftness of the witness. He is poofed back to the box.)_ I would like to call to the stand my client himself at this time, the Vicompte Raoul de Chagney.

**Raoul:** *comes forward and sweahs…er, swears.*

**Moriarty:** Very well. Now, Mr. de Chagney, what is the principal quarrel shared by you and Mr. the Phantom?

**Raoul:** We are fighting, sir, over the affections of a certain Opera singer, Miss Christine Daae.

**Moriarty:** And has Mr. the Phantom done anything to violate Miss Daae's personal space, rights, or safety?

**Raoul:** Why yes. He has abducted her multiple times, manipulated her feelings, engaged in enticement of a minor- he pretended to be her father- has stalked her, bullied her, disguised himself in order to be near her, made threats against others in order to pressure her, and has a right scary wax model of her in his lair.

**Moriarty:** And does Miss Daae seem to enjoy or welcome these attentions?

**Raoul:** Well, upon occasion…

**Moriarty:** *evil glare*

**Raoul:** ahem, no, not typically. At one time, Miss Daae told me that time spent with him was "horror, horror, horror," and once told me personally: "Raoul, I've seen him! Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape from that face? So distorted, deformed, it was hardly a face..." If you ask me, this is not how a romantic heroine addresses her romantic hero! She would rather say…_(begins to belt, pretty well, in fact-)_ Saaaaaaaay you love me every waaaaaaaaking moment! Tuuuuuuuurn my head with talk of summertiiiiiiiime….!

**JS:** ORDER! *bangbang* No singin' in the courtroom, mon-sewer.

**Moriarty:** That will be all, Vicompte. With that, I conclude my argument. Jury, please consider our defendant: an amoral, sadistic, and hideous fiend. _(Erik has begun to grind a hole in the parquet with his heel, and his eyes are glowing red. However, he somehow keeps his seat.)_ I ask you, is this heroic? Not even the object of his affections could see him in a heroic light! My client, on the other hand, is dashing, the antithesis of this Phantom, and has stunning blond locks. The prosecution rests, your honor.

**Paisley:** _(in a voice strained with rage)_ Sherlock? I sincerely hope that you have a stupendous defense prepared, or my homicidal insanity in the face of Moriarty's cruelty will know no bounds. Except that it will be eclipsed entirely by Erik's. Do proceed.

**Sherlock:** _(rises, cracks his knuckles, and strides up to the front. He stares Moriarty back to his seat.)_ My most honored judge, jury, and audience, both here with us and far away; listen please to my rational analysis of this horrible predicament we find ourselves in. Mr. Moriarty, I'm, afraid, has preyed upon your emotions to scare from you a guilty verdict. He fails, however, to see that deductive reasoning will shortly bring anyone in possession of half a brain to the conclusion that Mr. Erik, Phantom of the Opera, is in fact just as heroic as any one of us in this room. I would first like to call to the stand a couple of choice characters. All at once, if you please. Miss Paisley, can you bring forth Quasimodo and Beauty's Beast?

_The two appear, and look quite at home among the vast multitude of other fictional characters. Both swear on the Odyssey, and then wait to be questioned._

**Sherlock:** Now, both of you figure prominently in your respective Disney movies. As a matter of fact, your names are both in the title. Please state the names of your respective books and movies.

**Beast:** Beauty and the Beast.

**Quasimodo:** The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

**Sherlock:** Yes, it is clear that you are both of enough importance to have made the titles. Jury, do note that Mr. The Phantom is also the titular character of "The Phantom of the Opera." It is not called "The Foppish Vicompte of the Opera," after all. Now, would you two both agree that you are somehow deformed during the course of your multimedia appearances?

**Beast and Quasimodo:** Yes.

**Sherlock:** Yet you are still the undeniable heroes of these said appearances?

**Beast and Quasimodo:** Yes. We both end up with Disney princesses, or similar heroines.

**Sherlock:** Mr. Moriarty, can you deny that these two gentlemen are heroes?

**Moriarty:** _(sounding most peevish)_ ah, well…no. I cannot.

**Sherlock:** Mr. Beast, is Gaston, the foppish, overgallant, manly man in your story, the hero?

**Beast:** *scoff* Heavens no!

**Sherlock:** You may go now, Mr. Beast. Mr. Quasimodo, you did not end up with the heroine of your story at its conclusion, did you?

**Quasimodo:** _(looking sad. You want to hug him.)_ No…but I do get a girlfriend in the sequel.

**Sherlock: **This sounds quite similar to the predicament of my client, does it not? Though it is in the realms of fanfiction that Mr. Erik gets his second shot at love, he is still considered a heartthrob by many, many, MANY female fans of all ages. You may go, Mr. Quasimodo. I have just proven to you, Jury, that my client demonstrates the same qualities as multiple definite heroes; though deformed, he is darkly heroic, lovable, and admired. If he shares these traits with genuine heroes, why cannot he himself be one? Well, let's take a poll! Mr. Bond…have you ever killed anyone?

**James Bond:** Certainly. An inordinate amount of people.

**Sherlock:** Mr. Bourne, have you ever implemented manipulation and scare tactics?

**Jason Bourne:** *curt nod*

**Sherlock:** Mr. Fowl, does you moral compass point directly North?

**Artemis:** *vampire smile* Oh, hardly ever. One would never have any fun that way.

**Sherlock:** There we go! One needn't be a perfect saint in order to achieve heroic status. In fact, revenge, violence, and maverickness are common traits amongst a good many heroes. You cannot have a good story unless there's conflict, which is usually surmounted by virtue of a gun, sword…or Punjab lasso. Even I have done in a few villains myself.

**Moriarty:** What about the vices, such as obsessions and drug use, that the defendant has?

**Sherlock:** I beg your pardon! Anyone in this room with an obsessive personality, please say "Aye!"

"_Aye!" rings out from Sherlock, Alexander, Monte Cristo, Rhett Butler, Artemis Fowl, Jim Hawkins, Jason Bourne, Indiana Jones, Captain Jack Sparrow, Westley, and many audience members including Stephen Maturin, Jack Aubrey, and the entire camp of POWs from "The Great Escape."_

**Sherlock:** Pwned. Now who here has a problem of some sort with smoking, drinking, etcetera… ayes again, if you please.

"_Aye!" once again echoes throughout the room, this time from Sherlock, Alexander, Rhett, Captain Jack Sparrow, multiple Extraordinary Gentlemen, Stephen Maturin, and even judge James!_

**Sherlock:** Pwned for a second time! Permit me to observe, then, that heroes aren't perfect. As a matter of fact, we have flaws. Is not that what Mr. Silsbee, if you don't mind my saying so, got removed from the running for? The vast majority of us have our own problems to overcome. In fact, many of us are pretty messed up…Over one half of us here today would be called "mad, bad, and dangerous to know." This, as anybody on a literary inclination will very well know, was used to describe a certain writer. Has anybody heard of Lord Byron? Well, frankly, he invented the archetype and was the prototype for a new sort of hero, free from the foppishness, blind ambition, and moral rectitude of past leading men. Yes, my good people, he invented the Byronic hero, an example of which Mr. Erik of the Opera most certainly is! I would, of course, ask my client himself to give a testimony, but as it were, he would probably implode with rage and never be heard from again. The defense rests!

**Paisley:** I am quite proud of you, Mr. Holmes! I'll let you take the rest, Jamie.

**James Stark:** Jamie? Well, uh, yeah, jury, you can go and deliberate.

_A wall springs up around the jurists' box, effectively muting the deliberation going on within. An awkward silence descends upon the rest of the room; the audience is respectfully silent, except that Blue Willow is still scooting around in her frame, drooling and attempting to get as close as possible to Steve Maturin, who keeps changing seats to elude her. The two opposing factions are having two separate stare-downs; Raoul looks like he is about to run from the room in flight, except that there isn't a door, and Moriarty and Sherlock are having a staring contest. When they have been going at it for about half an hour-with neither blinking- the wall suddenly drops. Darcy and Monte Cristo are standing up with a written statement between them. The tension suddenly kicks up a few notches, and Raoul gives a terrified squeak._

**James Stark:** _(lackadaisically) _What is your verdict?

**Darcy:** We, the jury of peers, find Mr. Erik, Phantom of the Opera, to be Not guilty, on grounds of his exemplary nature of Byronic hero-ness.

**Monte Cristo:** Additionally, we hereby suggest a sentence; Vicompte Raoul de Chagney and Professor James Moriarty are to complete three novels' lengths of community service for slander. AND libel.

**Moriarty:** *gulps* In what novel, pray tell, will we be serving our time?

**Monte Cristo:** _(vengefully)_ Oh, I think you'll be cleaning up the mess left at the end of Gone With The Wind… congratulations, fellows, you'll be reconstructing the South. Then we shall send you off to a mashup of every Charles Dickens book ever written to work in factories.

**Raoul:** _(turning frantically towards Judge Stark)_ But…but…this can't actually happen, can it?

**Monte Cristo:** Count on it.

**Moriarty: **Your honor, you cannot permit this to happen to us! Why, you'd be CHICKEN if you were to turn the two of us out, alone in the world, just because you were afraid of the jury!

**James Stark:** _(suddenly angsty) _I don't know what to do anymore! Except maybe diiiiiieeeeeee!

**Paisley:** Calm down, Jim/Jamie/James!

**Sherlock:** You must heed the jury!

**Moriarty: **CHICKEN!

**Raoul:** _(thinks he's helping)_ bak-bak-bak-ba-GAwk!

**James Stark:** You, you say one thing, he says another, and everybody changes back again!

**Erik:** Make you choice! _(suddenly singing)_ You're past the point of noooooooo reeeee-turn!

**James Stark:** You're tearing me apart!

**Moriarty:** Hush, you stupid Opera singer pansy! You'll sway him with your misleading singing capabilities!

**Erik:** _(louder and even better than before)_ The bridge is crossed, so staaaaaaand and watch it buuuuurn!

**Raoul:** Stop or feel the wrath of my sword!

**Sherlock:** Do not talk to my client in that manner, man!

**Moriarty:** Oh, nonsense, this is taking far too long! I have three banks to rob and an elderly Baroness to swindle back in London…

_With that, Moriarty pulls a gun! Raoul follows suit! They aim their guns, by turns, at Erik, Sherlock, Paisley, and the jury. Everyone else is, of course, weaponless, having given up their arms in a previous episode! Cedric is busy pulling hexes on the nonentity, and doesn't seem to notice the showdown! Captain Jack is nowhere to be found, as he is probably drinking rum somewhere! Zuzu has curled up on her keyboard and is soundly asleep! Erik and Sherlock put up their hands, as does the entire audience. Rab, Alexander, and Holden look at each other frantically, wanting to somehow help their compatriots, but not wanting to be blown to bits!_

**Raoul:** Hah! We have you now! Change the verdict, or someone dies!

**Moriarty:** And make it snappy!

_No one moves. Raoul is sweating buckets, and looks happily excited. Moriarty is losing patience, and his veins are standing out in a most peculiar way. Suddenly, he and Raoul both snap at the same time, and fire their guns at Erik and Sherlock!_

**Guns:** BANG!

_But, instead of actually injuring the two, the bullets evaporate on discharge! Moriarty and Raoul seem to have disappeared… after a brief silence, it is noticed that an ugly, warty gourd with a protruding forehead and an ear of corn with flowing golden locks lie where the two once stood._

**James Stark:** ?

**Alexander:** What in the name of Zeus has happened?

**Sherlock:** Haha! Why, it's the curse that Paisley had Cedric create at the beginning of last episode! The one that would turn anyone committing a violent act to turn into a vegetable!

_The general applause is prodigious. It quiets when Judge Stark bangs his gavel_.

**James Stark:** *BANG BANG!* I declare Mr. Erik, Phantom of the Opera, to be NOT guilty!

**Audience:** CLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAPCLAP!

**Paisley:**_ (turning to screen, the applause fades into the background as Erik and Sherlock shake hands and Rab, Alex, and Holden start breakdancing .) _Well now, wasn't that exciting? I know it was certainly long and comparatively boring, but the funny factor will be picking up soon! I'm so glad that everything turned out all right, because I completely lost control! We were in a tight spot, fellas…but it's all good, and I can't wait to go on to our next show! If you have any ideas for a theme, review them! Otherwise, you'll be seeing Erik, Sherlock, and one of our dashing also-rans (because remember, one's going to redeem himself and get back on) wearing frilly aprons and -gasp- baking! Thanks for viewing and see you next time of Fictitious Hero Idol! This is Paisley, signing off!

**Citations for the guest stars:**

**Mr. Darcy © Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice":::Edmond Dantes © Alexandre Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo":::Rhett Butler © Margaret Mitchell's "Gone With The Wind":::Mr. Rochester © Charlotte Bronte's "Jane Eyre":::Westley © S. Morgenstern's "The Princess Bride":::James Bond © The James Bond Franchise, CB Ian Fleming:::Jason Bourne © The Bourne Trilogy:::Indiana Jones © The Indiana Jones Franchise:::Tristan © "Tristan and Isolde":::Generic Jesses(s) © Terri Farley's "Seven Tears Into the Sea" and Meg Cabot's "The Mediator" series:::Ilya Kuryakin © "The Man from U.N.C.L.E":::Artemis Fowl © "Artemis Fowl" series:::James Stark © "Rebel Without a Cause":::Quasimodo and Beast © Disney:::E---C--- © Stephanie Meyer's "T----- :::Moriarty © Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's "Sherlock Holmes" series:::Raoul and miscellaneous Opera characters © Gaston LeRoux/Andrew Lloyd Webber's "The Phantom of the Opera":::Blue Willow © Herself:::Crew of HMS Surprise, including Stephen Maturin © Patrick O'Brian's "Aubrey/Maturin Series":::POWs © "The Great Escape"::: League of Extraordinary Gentlemen © "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen." Obviously. **


	7. FHI Part VI: Cooking Show and Finale

**Welp, I'm back! To tell you the truth, I had totally forgotten about FHI until RoseInStillWaters posted the last comment, and it showed up in my inbox. And I thought: HOLY COW! I HAVE ANOTHER EPISODE LEFT! Ergo, here is the concluding chapter of this idyll of Idol. I got about halfway through after writing that forward, and then I sort of got sidetracked with things such as school, and like my bazillion attractive boyfriends and flying to and from Greece LIKE EVERY WEEKEND and oh yes did I mention that I won the Nobel Peace Prize. Not really, I actually forgot about it again. Shameful, I know. Anywho, I am finally getting around to finishing it up. I believe my only reference of the pop culture variety is to Simon Schama, who, being an actual person, belongs to Simon Schama. And the BBC. Same disclaimers as before. **

**I would also like you, dear reader, to observe a moment of silence for my dear cat, upon whom Zuzu was based. She passed away in the interval between the last chapter and this; however, she led a long and happy cat life, and is surely romping through fields full of loud, shaky grass to chase. **

**Now, sit back and enjoy, and don't forget to leave a few parting comments!**

_The scene opens to something totally different than anything from before. The dias from the last two episodes remain, but ovens, microwaves, sinks, and counters line the walls. There are plastic-looking bowls of fruit on the tables, and Martha-Stewart-like tea towels, potted plants, and pink plaid curtains that are fluttering in an artificial breeze. The budgerigar from the talk show portion is back, this time whistling selections from Celtic Woman. _

_Poof!_

_With a bump, our five men, somehow and against all odds still here, land on the checked parquet. Holden looks just overjoyed to still be there, whilst Rab and Alex have their game faces on. Sherlock still appears to be gloating from his victory in the courtroom, and Erik, bless his heart, is SMILILNG and looks CONTETNED. You are most shocked by this last development._

**Paisley:** Welcome, gents, to our finale round! Give yourselves a pat on the back for making it this far!

**Holden:** Even me?

**Paisley:** Umm, no, but you can give yourself a high-five.

**Holden:** _does_. Hey, this is just like clapping! You phony ol'-

**Paisley:** Don't test me, Shirley Beans-

**Sherlock:** (_with a forgiving smile. Nothing's going to bring down his mood today_.) DON'T call me Shirley!

**Alex:** _(rolling his shoulders and jumping from foot to foot_) Can we just get ON with it?

**Paisley: **Yes, yes, don't get your metal skirt thing in a bunch. Ahem: The way I have decided to organize this is quite simple. Erik and Sherlock, our two finalists, each get a cooking station. Your task is to create the best dish you possibly can, given the motley array of ingredients I will provide you with. Meanwhile, Alex and Rab will have their own challenge: that's right boys, FLOWER ARRANGEMENT. Whoever creates the best bouquet of flowers will present it to me as if asking me to prom, and then put his point total up against the cookoff winner! From there, whoever has the highest score will win fabulous prizes! You ready, campers?

**Holden:** (_whiny, of course_) But what about meeeeeee?

**Paisley:** YOU, Holden, shall do things like compost veggie leavings and set oven preheats and lift heavy chopping blocks, and complete other menial tasks. Okey-doke?

**Holden:** Beats sitting where that phony-baloney, spinachin' sparkly thing sat last time.

**Paisley:** Then, grab your stations!

_Erik and Sherlock tear over to two ovens, but are dismayed to find frilly aprons, in delicate shades of mauve and periwinkle, as the only possible cover-ups._

**Erik:** You presume to give I, the Phantom himself, anything in a color besides red or black? You little viper!

**Paisley:** Chill pill, Erik, chill pill…

**Sherlock:** (_all aproned up_) come come now, my good fellow, it's the last step of humiliation in this contest. *pats Erik on the back*

**Erik:** (_leaps back with a hisssss_) Touch me not! I am Red Death, stalking abroad! (_he begins to, well, stalk_.)

**Paisley:** Erik! Man up! It will go so very nicely with your cape!

**Erik:** NO. non. Nunca!

**Alex:** Listen up, you glorified pleb! Just because you can carry a tune doesn't mean you can hold up my winning spree!

**Rab:** (_trying to sound supportive_) Umm, uh-huh.

**Erik:** (_dirty glares all 'round_) Fine. But if I don't win…something…a disaster beyond your wildest imaginings shall occur.

_Everyone watches with baited breath as he drops the apron over his cape, and ties the sash. A sigh of relief echoes from the others._

**Paisley: **Now, your ingredients. I will make this difficult. You must each use at least five of your ingredients. You have in your cupboards other important cooking tools, such as frying oil, water, and baking powder. Sherlock, here is your list:

Plantains

Paprika

Rock Salt

Black Licorice

Soy Milk

Bacon

Cabbage

Butter

Spicy green onions

And…A Gourd

**Sherlock:** This is ridiculous! One cannot make proper bangers and mash, or roasted roe-buck, or Yorkshire pudding, with only this paltry list of foods!

**Paisley:** Ya get whatcha get and ya don't throw a fit.

**Sherlock:** grrrrrrr….

**Paisley:** Erik, your list is:

Cumin

Eggs

Grits

Lox

Pita Bread

Goat's milk

Parsley

Crisco

Baker's Chocolate

And…an ear or two of corn.

**Erik:** oooh, corn! I shall chop into it with pleasure!

**Sherlock:** By golly, you're right! It's a GOURD. Wait…This isn't-

_(you will, dear readers, remember that Raoul and Moriarty were turned into a gourd and corn, respectively, as punishment for their losing the trial.)_

**Paisley:** No, I'm sorry, boys, but the union would have my head if I actually let you cook your archenemies. They are just lookalikes, though I'm sure they are equally tasty.

**Sherlock:** Ah well…Prepare to meet your maker, gourd!

**Erik:** Yes, corn, now YOU will hop jolly high!

_Both look sadistically overjoyed to be able to chop into vegetables that so closely resemble Moriarty and Raoul. Holden subsequently fetches whetstones and hulking knife racks._

**Paisley:** We will leave these two to their capers and now move along to our flowerboys. How's it shaping up, fellows?

**Rab:** Can't…talk…must…concentrate… _(he is busily fluffing mounds of Babies' Breath in his vase.)_

**Alex:** Yes, if you don't mind, Lady Paisley, this is a very vital and delicate process. _(he is counting the petals on a bunch of pink daisies, making sure they are all symmetrical.)_

**Paisley:** …

**Rab:** Umm, Miss Paisley? You're blocking my light. I need to judge the purpleness of this fuchsia vine, so if you could move… (_The painting has somehow been hovering, and unhappily scoots back to its place on the wall.)_

**Holden:** Anything I can do yet?

**Paisley:** NO! This episode is turning out to be BORING and it's supposed to be ENTERTAINING! This is so not fair! (_you can hear her drumming her heels_.)

**Erik: **(_from background_) DIE, you foppish vegetable you! *dicedicedice*

**Sherlock:** Heheheheheh… *sizzle* (_he seems to be frying gourd chunks_)

_**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TIME PASSES~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**_

**Paisley:** Ohmygarsh, I am just dying over here!

_DING! Two oven timers go off at once. Alex and Rab also shout "DONE" right about now_.

**Paisley:** Wow, that just worked out too perfectly, almost as if I was ready to get this over with! My arm hurts.

**Sherlock:** What from?

**Paisley:** Just work on finding you some garnish, Sherlock dear. First, we'll review our semifinalists' charming little bouquets…

_Both of our pugnacious horsemen proudly present their creations. Alexander's looks rather like an explosion of firebombs and flaming javelins. He has used birds of paradise and orange gladiolus expertly. Rab's is a study in red, white, and blue, utilizing babies' breath stars, lily-of-the-valley and red carnation stripes, and a blue background of dyed roses. Both are pretty jimcama'ing amazing._

**Paisley**: I just don't know what to say! They're fantastic! Fortunately, it's all in the presentation. Rab, you go first.

**Rab:** (_shuffling forward, rather awkwardly_) Uhhhhhhh…

**Paisley:** come now, Rabbers! Spit it out!

**Rab:** Heresabouquet. Hopeyoureallylikeit. (_he shoves the flowers at the painting, hanging his head and blushing.)_

**Paisley:** Rab? What was that? Where is your typical debonair bearing? Your smooth and silent confidence?

**Rab:** Well, see, I get really nervous when it comes to asking girls out, which is what you do with a bouquet…

**Paisley:** But this is PRETEND!

**Rab:** I know, I know, but it's a, umm, phobia. I'm fine when I'm just talking or dancing, but, well…why do you think a gorgeous, kind, talented fellow like myself doesn't have a steady girlfriend? I'm afraid of commitment! I mean, this is 1776 we're talking about! Most people are already married by my age!

**Paisley:** Which is what? Sixteen? Seventeen?

**Rab:** yep.

**Paisley:** Well, that was disappointing! I guess Rab does have a flaw after all. Alex? This'd better be good.

**Alexander:** There is a problem.

**Paisley:** Problem?

**Alexander:** (_frustrated_) That's what I SAID!

**Paisley:** Well, do elaborate

**Alexander:** You see, I am Achilles reincarnated, the Son of Zeus, Emperor of the Eastern world and dictator for life. I don't give gifts. I take them.

**Paisley:** Are. You. Kidding. Me.

**Alexander:** I'm sorry, that's just what we dictators do. Hey, I don't make the rules…well, actually, I do, but still…*trails off into incoherent mumbling.* Oh, that didn't turn out well at all. Let me rephrase this: I don't make the rules- I JUST BREAK 'EM! FOR…FOR…MACEDONIA!

_As if it is physically impossible, Alex tries to bend a knee and present the bouquet. Sweat begins to pour down his handsomely glowing face- remember, challenges make Lexi glow- and his muscles begin to shake. Everyone stops what they are doing to get a load of this spectacle. Holden snickers irreverently. You can hear Paisley smiling loudly. _

**Alexander:** Must…kneel…give in to…ego…BUT I CANNOT MAKE MYSELF SUBSERVIANT!

_In the end, though, he just can't do it. Poor Alex looks most dejected, but he gets a fist bump and a manhug, the type that involves a complicated handshake, from Rab. _

**Paisley:** Aww, you two done good. I'm proud to have you on my gameshow any day. *sniffles* (_suddenly upbeat_) But since both of those presentations of bouquets were most embarrassing, now it's only on between the two finalists! Once bitter enemies, these two were united last episode against the common evil of nemesienesses…

**Sherlock:** _(squinting dubiously_) What?

**Paisley:** Nemesissesess! Nemisesisses! Nemisii! Plural of Nemesis!

**Sherlock:** Verily.

**Paisley:** NEMESISES, and are now amicable as partners in stopping law crime! But now, oh now, they are pitted cheek to jowl in a cook-off to blow the roof right off this popsicle stand! Ladies and Gents, but mostly gents, it is time for the TASTE TEST!

_The trumpet fanfare from the talk show begins to roll, and, despite their recent losses, Rab and Alex begin to dance a pair of very nice robots in time with the music._

**Holden**: Hey, wanna learn how to two-step_? (Holden starts two-stepping like a true gangsta. Everyone stops and stares, mouths agape.)_

**Paisley**: Holden…you CAN dance! But still probably not as well as Rab. But at least you've redeemed yourself somewhat- GOLD STAR!

_A gold star, similar to Rab's, but perhaps not as shiny, appears on Holden's grimy lapel. He stares at it in disbelief, and then quickly wipes away a tear. He then shuffles off into a corner to croon over it. _

**Paisley:** Well, we lost our kitchen boy, but he also just might have found the will to live. Garsh I'm good. But back to our contenders! First we shall go to the dish prepared by Mr. Holmes! Sherlock, please explain your recipe.

**Sherlock:** It was a disgrace what you gave me to work with. No meat? No eggs? What sort of culinary travesty is this? We British make it a point to only consume dishes heavy on the protein.

**Erik:** (_whispering_) bacon is a meat, you great booby!

**Sherlock:** Not a real one! It's bloody American! Where are my kippers?

**Paisley:** Well, what did you make? Come now, show us.

_Grudgingly, Sherlock removes a covered dish from the oven where it has been warming. A suspicious smell issues from it, and Holden begins to choke on the aroma from his corner._

**Sherlock:** I was strapped for ideas until I remembered what my secret, unnamed, not-even-present-in-the-books Mum used to make for me and brother Mycroft way back years ago, before I was a great detective. We had bubble and squeak every day! And, lo and behold, I was given both butter and cabbage, important components in this lovely dish, in my list of ingredients! But, since I had neither potatoes nor sausage, I had to improvise. I would like to present to you GOURD bubble and squeak!

_He throws open the top of the dish with a dramatic flair, but instead of bubbling and squeaking, the food is making other sounds…_

**Food:** sizzle…pop…hissssss…rumble…buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurp!

**Rab:** Did that food just…belch?

**Erik:** How very rude!

**Food:** errrrrrrrpppppp….

**Paisley**: Perhaps the gourd did not agree with the butter and cabbage-

**Sherlock**: Or paprika, rock salt, or spicy green onions I used for flavour.

**Paisley:** That's six ingredients, Sherlock! Don't you think that the paprika was a little superfluous?

**Sherlock:** It adds colour!

**Paisley:** Did you just pronounce "color" like "colour" with a "u?" Of course you did, you're British. Strange, this never occurred to me before…

**Sherlock:** I can pronounce coloUr any way I chUse!

**Paisley:** Choose with a "u" too? Stop it stop it stop it! We need to stop getting sidetracked and focus on reaching the end of this thing!

**Sherlock:** I see no conneXion betwixt my pronunciation and this cook-off!

**Paisley:** Wargblahgfglarbletwiffffffff!

**Sherlock:** _(peevishly happy) _DInisty. SSHedule. ISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSue.

**Paisley:** Oh, now you just sound like Simon Schama! Give it a rest, SHIRLEY.

**Sherlock:** hmph. I will let my cooking speak for itself, then. _(he folds his arms and turns away haughtily. Or "hotty-ly," as some of our viewers may opine.) _And don't call me Shirley.

**Paisley:** Well, let's get on with it. Holden! You're the food tester today.

**Holden:**_ (unhappily leaping up from his corner of starry wonder) _But…that looks alfalfasprouts-leeks'ed nasty!

**Paisley:** Deal with it dearie, or it's the box for you.

**Holden:** *angsty siiiiiiigh*

**Paisley:** Come now come now, we haven't all day!

_Holden takes up a knife and fork, and carefully carves off a chunk of the viscous, entirely un-bubble-and-squeak-like glob._

**Glob:** squelllllllch….fiiiizzzzz….burrrrrrrrrble…..

**Holden:** Goodbye, fair world.

_Holden takes the bite. His facial contortions are a wonder to behold. His eyes begin to stream, and he starts to go leaping around the kitchen set, mouth open, fanning his tastebuds and screaming like a boiling kettle. Or a Banshee. He finally procures a pitcher of water and dumps it down his throat, effectively soaking the front of his sweater._

**Holden:** That…was…rhubarb-acornsquash-haricot-cauliflower-broccoli-ROMAINLETTUCE-scallions NASTY!

**Sherlock:** _(drily)_ I lack the words to counter this offensive affront to my cooking abilities. I call for a second opinion.

**Holden:** *Screeeeeeeeeeeeech!* Nasssssssssssssst-yyyyyyyyyyyy!

**Paisley:** Will you pipe down for a minute, Holden? Sherlock, who would you like to take the next bite? Our favorite Catcher could just be being pernicious.

**Sherlock: ***eyes Rab and Alexander* Dictator boy. _(Alexander, offended, points to himself quizzically_.) Yes, you in the skirt. I command you to try my Bubble and Squeak.

**Alexander:** _(barely holding in his temper. He is turning a pleasant beetroot color and is glowing suspiciously.) _First of all, it is a MAIL KILT. A functional CHAINMAIL KILT. I would like to see you try to pull one off, with those skinny legs of yours. Second of all, I do not take orders, but I may deign to try your "fizzle 'n' belch" for the good of the competition. And third of all-

**Sherlock: **Just deign already, your majesty. _(this last said with acidity.)_

**Alexander:** Fine. I will prove that I am man enough to eat anything I have to.

_Alexander strides up to the plate, and shovels a handful of bubble 'n' fizzle 'n' squeak 'n' belch into his mouth. With his hands. He chews thoughtfully, makes a deciding face, and then turns to address his audience. You can tell he enjoys being in the spotlight once again._

**Paisley:** I forgot that forks weren't invented in your time, Lexi. If we had an etiquette challenge, I'm afraid you would fail miserably. Anyway, spit it out; what's the verdict?

**Alexander:** This concoction is-

**Paisley:** HAHAHAHA, I just made a funny! Spit it out…and food…and spitting it out….HAHAHAHA!

**Rab:** _(with a snort of laughter) _You've interrupted yourself, Miss Paisley.

**Paisley:** Excusez-moi?

**Rab:** Well, you said a few minutes ago that you wanted this episode or whatever to be done already, and you're just further impeding the process…

**Paisley:** Aww, Rabbers, always lookin' out for the good of everything! GOLD STAR!

_A third? No fourth? No fifth? Gold star appears on Rab's lapel. He looks pleased as punch. Holden snarls and makes a disenchanted face. There will be a brawl unless a distraction happens!_

**Paisley:** Look over there it's a bouncing taco!

**Holden:** COOL! Where? _(completely and utterly distracted)_

**Paisley:** Well well well, moving right along! Alex, how is it?

**Alexander:** Disgusting, but, frankly, on the campaign trail we have worse on a daily basis. I give it a solid two out of five stars.

**Sherlock:** Ah well, at least that will be better than anything Mr. Phantypants over there can do.

**Erik:** I beg your pardon!

**Paisley:** Not going to strangle him, Erik?

**Erik:** While the impulse to Punjab does make Erik's xanthous fingers twitch, Erik knows that the skinny, rude Englishman LIES. So he will let his cooking speak for itself.

**Paisley:** the third person? That's never good. She said anxiously.

**Erik:** BEHOLD! My entry to this finale performance-

**Holden:** WHERE'S MY BOUNCING TACO?

**Paisley:** hush! Or I will let Erik strangle ya until you're PURKLE!

**Erik: **Ahem. Where was Erik? Oh yes: BEHOLD! I give to you a new dish that is certain to win for Erik his rightful title of "Best Fictitious Hero:" Quiche a la Don Juan Triumphant!

**Sherlock**_**:**__ (resentful)_ that is a long name. I'm afraid none of us will be able to remember it. Especially that one. _(he points to Holden, who is still searching for his taco.) _Weak phrenology, you know. Not prone to quick wits or logic. Did you know I have written a monograph on the subject?

**Erik:** ERIK IS DISPLEASED. _(one look from his eyes/glowing yellow dots silences Sherlock.)_ But if you MUST, you may refer to my culinary masterpiece as "Quiche DJT." Please, Monsieur Caulfield. Try some.

_Holden looks up from under a potted fichus and scuttles over to Erik's cooking station. Erik hands him the plate of quiche, which is admittedly pretty and yellow and garnished with a photogenic sprig of parsley. It smells good, that is if you like eggs. He has obviously included cumin a lox in a way that will taste not at all bad; he had also created a fluffy-looking crust from the pita bread and Crisco, for we all know that good crust involves Crisco. You are very impressed._

**Holden:** This one might not be so bad y'know? It's probably better than a greenonion'in taco, for radishsake.

_Holden picks up a fork and takes a bite. A boyish smile lights up his face as he chews._

**Holden:** Gee, that's swell! It kills me, it really does!

**Paisley**: Nice, is it? Alex, try some.

**Alexander:** Gladly _(he tries some.) _Excellent! Even better than all that honey stuff we got in Halicarnassus! Five of five stars! I would go so far as to say that it is worthy of my royal palate.

**Erik:** At last, I am appreciated.

**Sherlock:**_ (dismayed)_ But…but…how? You sing and plot and kill people, not cook! By Jove, this is impossible!

**Erik:** _(very smug. He sweeps his cape 'round for effect, although the mauve apron rather ruins it.) _You forget, my good detective, that I am FRENCH. Je suis francais! Vive la francais! Les francais, nous sommes TRES BON avec la nourriture, non? HAHAHAHA! *manic laughter*

**Paisley:** Brav-o, Monsieur Le Fantome! Bravo indeed! You hereby win this cooking challenge!

_A PALL SILENCE SUDDENLY FALLS OVER ALL PRESENT!_

_Every contestant stops what they are doing, quite shocked. Each sports a becoming deer-in-the-headlights expression. The budgerigar makes a cricket noise._

**Budgie:** eee-eeee. Eee-eeeeee.

**Sherlock:** Odd's Fish!

**Rab:** Golly Gee!

**Alex:** By my sword!

**Holden:** Zuuuuu-chini!

**Erik:** I….I….Erik has WON!

_Here, Erik breaks into a fantastic victory dance. Gameshow music blasts from unseen speakers, and all the heroes have a spontaneous and fabulous dance party. Holden teaches the others how to two-step and dougie; Rab moonwalks and busts out some breakdancing. Erik tangos with himself, while Sherlock and Alex, not the dancing type, shuffle around without rhythm; however, they look like they are enjoying themselves. Jack Sparrow and Cedric Diggory are invited in, and they all form a moshpit. It is truly a spectacle. When the music ends, the security gents disapparate after waving goodbye to the audience and the others assemble on the stage._

**Paisley:** It has been so much fun working with all y'all! I'm going to miss you! But first, before we get all mushy, May I present to Mr. Erik, Phantom of the Opera, with the grand prize: a happy ending to his story! I'm sorry there's not concrete trophy or anything, Erik, but this is an intangible concept. How about I write up a contract for you?

**Erik:** This will suffice.

**Paisley:** *scritch scratch of pen* Well here you go! It reads: "This contract hereby entitles Mr. Erik of the opera to One (1) Guaranteed Happy Ending to his story." How does that sound?

**Erik:** Logical.

**Paisley:** And I am so glad you've won, Erik, because that ending has already been written for me by a Mr. Andrew Lloyd Webber!

**Erik:** WHAT?

**Paisley:** Oh, yes. While I was in the process of writ- er, producing this fanfiction/show/entity, dear Mr. Webber, who is responsible for putting you on the map fictitious-hero-wise, Erik, wrote up a sequel to your original plotline!

**Erik:** Tell me; it IS happy, then?

**Paisley:** Oh, I can't say! But I was quite disappointed with it-

**Erik: **RACONTE! Tell me! I must know! You cannot rip myself, Erik, off in such a backhanded manner!

**Paisley:** Well here's a spoiler: you go soft. _(Erik goes all livid behind his mask.)_ Ball's not in my court, though…I wash my hands of responsibility. _(Erik starts shaking violently. Paisley's tone becomes more conciliatory.)_ I'm sorry, But you do get some pretty amazing solos, so don't be too angry-

**Erik:** ANGRY? Erik is BEYOND angry! Erik is rampantly violent, and awfully, horrendously terrible! You have crossed the wrong Phantom, Miss Paisley! In fact_- (he draws four nooses from his cloak)_- I will take all of your precious heroes HOSTAGE until you meet my demands! _(In a flash, Erik, has lassoed Rab, Alex, Sherlock, and Holden. He grabs all of their nooses together in one fist and strikes a scarily dramatic pose as the four others splutter and gag.)_

**Paisley:** ERIK! Need I call security?

**Erik:** Do you not remember that you just dismissed them, stupid girl? Promise me a satisfactory ending, or your detective, your dictator, your revolutionary and your, ummm, disenfranchised youth will DIE!

**Paisley:** Okay, I give you my word that one of the three next fanfictions- er, writings I create will give you a second chance at a happy ending!

**Erik:** It will do._ (he lets the four go. They all squirm out of their nooses and begin to rub their necks, all the while giving Erik some very resentful looks.)_

**Paisley:** *sigh of relief* No promises that it will be a perfect sequel to your original body of work, but I won't let you down. Sooooooooooo, We have our victor! Erik, take a bow! _(he does with many flourishes.)_ In second place we have Mr. Sherlock Holmes of 221b Baker Street, detective extraordinaire! In third place, we have Mr. Rab Silsbee of Boston and His Royal Majesty Alexander of Macedon! Fourth place finds us with Mr. Holden Caulfield, most lately of Pencey Preparatory School for Boys but generally of the New York area! _(They all bow in turn.) _Now, I guess it's time to say goodbye, men. First, let's give a shout-out to all the fans!

_The five guys wave at YOU (yes you) enthusiastically. Erik blows kisses; Alex does the Miss America wave as if on parade. Holden blushes profusely. Rab is just all smiles, and Sherlock cheekily makes the "call me" sign. _

**Paisley:** Any parting words, fellas?

**Alexander:** I would like to congratulate each and every one of you, gentlemen and ladies in the distant audience, for having the pleasure of beholding my glory for the time we have spent together! After all, I am Achilles reincarnated, Son of-

**Sherlock:** _(pushes him aside_) –And I would like to thank you for supporting this, erm, presentation, and sincerely hope that you have cultivated your deductive skills after my fine example!

**Rab:** Umm, thanks for watching. It was an honor to meet you, men, and…*wink* to Miss Thursday, for being my only fan.

**Holden:** Yeah Holden Caulfield! WOO! But seriously, it was, like, fun, or whatever, to have good role models like all you guys…not like I'm gonna cry, or any of that ol' phony crap…_(shuffles away, sniffing.)_

**Erik:** Thank you, really, for the chance to redeem myself, and for loving me, dearest ladies in the audience. You have seen beyond my disfigurement to recognize the true heroism behind this mask. Gentlemen, it was an honor serving alongside you, who were so very easy to Punjab *snicker.* Miss Paisley, I expect a satisfactory ending, and in fact look forward to living it out. Now, I will go back to my own story, to my dear Christine, full of hope and, for the first time in my pitiful life, the knowledge that I am LOVED! _(you can see a Phantom tear glistening in his Phantom eye.)_

**Paisley:** _(between sobs)_ That was BEAUTIFUL Erik! *sob* For me, fellas, please group hug!

_They do. It is slightly awkward but very touching. The camera stills on this sentimental scene, and Paisley's voiceover takes control._

**Paisley:** Viewers, readers. Thank you ever so much for staying with this behemoth all the way through! I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. If you ever write any fiction about one of these fellers, or any of the jury, or just in general, I would love to read it! Shoot me a private message! Again, thanks, Erik's happy ending will surface one of these days.

'Til next time, this is Paisley, signing off!

IT DONE!


End file.
